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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23288146">Taking Flight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulpesmellifera/pseuds/Vulpesmellifera'>Vulpesmellifera</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - America, Birder!Mycroft, Birding, Don't copy to another site, Falconer!Greg, Falconry, Gay Greg Lestrade, Greg is a bit of a mess, Greg is an awesome dad, Greg is from the USA, Happy Ending, M/M, Mary Oliver, Murderous Pining, Mycroft is from the UK, Mycroft works in SIS, Nature, POV Greg Lestrade, Personal Growth, Poetry, Slow Burn, get in loser we're going on a road trip, so much birding, the meeting of two disasters, we're bird nerds here</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:48:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>182,079</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23288146</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulpesmellifera/pseuds/Vulpesmellifera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Circumstances have rooted Greg Lestrade in the rolling hills of northwest Connecticut to work as a falconer and naturalist. High Point Nature Preserve is a dream - 400 acres of hardwood forest, a dedicated staff, and hawks, owls, and eagles under his care. He can see himself living out the rest of his days there, retiring eventually on the edge of the Preserve that’s helped to make him who he is - along with a tight circle of friends and family.  </p><p>Yet, he isn't settled. Some youthful, idealistic part of him longs for adventure and travel. Yearns even more deeply for someone to share it with. </p><p>It seems like those things could be in reach when he meets Mycroft Holmes, an Englishman visiting family in the US. Only one problem: Mycroft leaves for England at the end of the summer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1879</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>388</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Hawks in Flight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you, first and foremost, to the people who have helped me to birth this story into creation. My betas: notjustmom and hippocrates460. Their tireless efforts helped to polish a rough stone into a shiny gem. </p><p>I wrote this fic from August to December in 2019. I started editing at the end of January, and for the first time, I found editing to be a joy. I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I did working on it. It's probably the most relaxed story I've written.</p><p>The plan is to post 1-2 chapters per week on Fridays. Those of you who follow along with WIPs are my heroes and I can't thank you enough in advance for any comments or kudos you choose to bestow upon this fic. Those of you waiting for it to be finished, I still love you anyway! Thank you for your patience. &lt;3 </p><p>The poet Mary Oliver passed away on January 17th, 2019, mere months before I started writing this story. Her words were already freckling my notes at the time of her death. She’s brought me more solace and comfort in this world than any poet I have read, so this has been written partly in her memory.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <strong>Part I</strong>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>"It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a beautiful and savage country lies between."</p>
  <p>-Diane Ackerman, <em>A Natural History of the Senses</em></p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>The buzz of the phone in his pocket was insistent, but he kept his eyes on the bird in the sky. A flash of rust red tail highlighted by sunlight, and the bird swooped upward to stretch her wings in a dizzying exercise of flight. He whistled and held his gloved hand aloft. Artemis ignored him - something had caught her eye. </p><p>
  <em> Prey? </em>
</p><p>His human eyes weren’t going to spot whatever small thing had snared her attention, not unless it was larger than a mouse and jumping out from wherever it was camouflaged. </p><p>And then it did.</p><p>A hawk, not quite as large as she, flew out from the treeline gilding the meadow. Artemis wavered in the air as the second hawk soared past her. </p><p>“Shit,” he said as he dropped his arm to his side. It was April, early enough for late hawks still looking for partners. And while he hadn’t seen any hawks in the area as of late, here was this young male, either ready to defend the territory, or invite Artemis in as his mate. </p><p>He whistled again, and stretched out his gloved hand with urgency, this time the bright white of a dead mouse stark against the walnut-brown leather of the glove. Artemis followed the other bird. He couldn’t tell for a moment if she was chasing him off or joining him in a bout of play.</p><p><em> This is it. </em> Dread shadowed his stomach like the darkness found in the bottom of a well. This was the chance every falconer took when they flew their bird for exercise or on a hunt: the bird could leave at any time.</p><p>Artemis had been his for two seasons. She’d never shown any interest in leaving, always returning when he’d signaled. She was his favorite of all his birds. His first one, Spirit, was special in his heart, but Artemis was affectionate in ways his other hawks had not been. </p><p>He watched as the two birds turned sharply in the sky, the male below Artemis. </p><p>Another vibration from the phone in his pocket. </p><p>He kept his eyes trained on the pair flying in the sky. He bit down on his lip, his heart up in his throat. He would have released her someday. She was a gorgeous bird, strong and lethal. She was large in size and quick in flight. She’d make an excellent teacher to a brood of chicks. Someday.</p><p>He just wasn’t expecting it to start today, in this golden field beneath the morning sun.</p><p>He kept the glove outstretched and whistled again. Clicked his tongue as loud as he could.</p><p>She tilted her head. She might have heard him. Their hearing wasn’t as great as an owl’s, but it was acute nonetheless. </p><p>Greg’s lips parted with a relieved breath when she turned in the sky and glided toward him. The male hawk circled overhead as she neared Greg, fanned her tail feathers and came to a landing on his glove, her feet gripping him hard and her wingtips brushing his face. He let her take the mouse as he grabbed her jesses and snapped the leash. </p><p>His gut pinged with guilt. He preferred birds to be wild, but hunting with hawks had become a small obsession. The little things he had to do each day - feeding, weighing, exercising, and so on, helped to cement his sense of place. This was one thing he could do, and do well. Focus on these birds and live vicariously through them every time they took to the sky. Savor that freedom they symbolized. It wasn’t exactly an easy freedom since living in the wild was no piece of cake between threats of predation, starvation, and disease. It was simplistic idea of lifting one’s wings and defying a gravitational pull that spoke to something desperate inside him. Something that longed for adventures and novel thrills. </p><p>It wasn’t that he didn’t love his life. He did. It just wasn't what he imagined.</p><p>“Listen here, Missy. Don’t scare your old man like that,” he said. </p><p>The hawk peered at him with sharp, amber eyes. Excited chirps erupted from her beak as she shifted from taloned foot to taloned foot.</p><p>“Yeah, I get it. He seems like a nice boy. But I can tell you that men all have one thing in mind, and you’re worth more than that.” He touched her beak with his finger. The beak gleamed like obsidian. </p><p>The male hawk landed in a tree nearby. Greg pointed at him. “She has no use for you. Go find someone else, you homewrecker.”</p><p>The hawk stayed still as stone, beady eyes pinned on them, feathers ruffled.</p><p>Greg faced Artemis again. “Shall we go home, my darling?”</p><p><em> Next season, </em> he thought. <em> In the fall. </em> Next season he would release her, and she’d go back to the wild where she belonged.</p><p>His heart ached at the thought as he followed the trail home. Lines from one of his favorite poems filtered into his thoughts: <em> To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.  </em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg lived just off one of the less popular trails of the preserve. He’d built a mews for his falconry birds in the backyard. Inside the mews, Greg placed Artemis on her perch. He held up her breakfast - another small white mouse, already dead, recently thawed from the freezer. </p><p>“Ready?” He clicked his tongue and she held up one yellow, scaly foot, the sharp black talons poised to catch. He tossed the mouse through the air and cheered when she snatched it. </p><p>The mews was a large shed with a set of double doors that lead to the outdoor run. Wooden perches wrapped with rope were affixed at different levels in height. Every morning he opened the doors to let her into the yard where she could enjoy the sunshine and bathe in the kiddie pool. The ground was covered in gravel and bare of plants except for a few evergreen inkberry shrubs. The little building had survived snowy winters and harsh March storms for years, and April was here. </p><p>He looked back at Artemis who’d swallowed her food and peered at him as if hoping for more. He’d nearly lost her to the male bird. </p><p>“Can’t blame you for that,” he said. “Always thought I’d marry someone and have a family, myself. You’ll get a chance at it, the hawk version anyway.” Nest building. Chicks. A partner for life. “I’ll make sure of that.”</p><p>Married. A joint bank account. Some adopted kids.</p><p>Of course, what he had now was pretty damn good, he had to remind himself.</p><p>He closed and locked the mews doors, and headed to his house.</p><p>He lived on the property of High Point Nature Preserve in a small, brick cape without any dormers. The rent was cheap and he could walk to work if he didn’t have anything heavy to carry with him. The windows were single-paned and old and let in the cold, but the foundation was solid and defended well against the entry of mice and other critters. He maintained the yard with native shrubs under advisement of his friend and coworker Molly. She was all about the early blooming kind that were attractive to queen bumble bees on the quest for sustenance after their winter slumber. Some parts of it were wild tangles of detritus and wildflowers, but it was home for many woodland creatures like meadow voles and New England cottontails. He liked to watch them from his windows. </p><p>Speaking of windows, the one to the left of the front door currently held the watchful body of a large, grey tomcat. The vigilant yellow eyes watched as Greg came up the pavers to the front stoop. Scratch had come with the house. He was big-boned and nosy, and Greg, though not a big fan of cats, didn’t have the heart to rehome him.</p><p>He let himself into the house and headed to the kitchen. After washing his hands, he drank the last of his coffee. Scratch head butted his ankle. Greg smiled as he reached down and stroked the cat behind the ears. His phone buzzed again.</p><p><em> Sigh. </em>He pulled it out of his pocket. His mother. Two missed calls. Two texts.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Danny’s birthday is tomorrow. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Please be sure to call him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Then:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Did you get my message? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Greg sucked in his lips as he typed back.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Thanks for the reminder.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Scratch watched him with a curious expression. </p><p>“It’s the golden son’s birthday tomorrow. He hasn’t called me on my birthday in years, but that doesn’t matter, right?”</p><p>Scratch sat on his haunches and looked dubious.</p><p>“I know, I shouldn’t complain.”<em> It’s just hard to be the black sheep, sometimes. </em> </p><p>A photograph hung on the wall of him, his daughter, and Jordana. Peregrine mostly took after her mother. She shared her mother’s cloud-like afro - though lately, Jo had her hair back in multiple, thin, tight braids. Peregrine’s curls weren’t quite as tight and her skin wasn’t a dark, golden-sepia like Jo’s, but she had her mother’s wide nose and lips, with Greg’s umber-dark eyes. Greg’s skin was fair with olive undertones, and Peregrine’s was a few shades darker, like the tawny shell of an acorn. With the backdrop of a blue sky over a green valley, it was a beautiful picture of a gorgeous family. The family that really mattered to him.</p><p><em> The family that counts </em>, he reminded himself.</p><p>“Be good, and I’ll see you in a few hours,” he said to Scratch. The cat hopped back up onto the windowsill as Greg left through the front door, pointed to High Point Nature Center and Preserve. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>While most owls are either nocturnal or crepuscular, the owls at High Point Nature Preserve were mostly awake during the day, peering at visitors from the safety of their perches behind wood and wire. One of Greg’s favorite activities with the indoor birds was to bring them outside on a trail walk. Tiny, a grey-phase eastern screech owl, was a staff favorite. He weighed no more than a handful of grapes. A common mistake among visitors at the center was to assume Tiny was an owlet, but he’d lived there for fifteen years. He’d arrived, the victim of a cat attack, as an adult. With an incredible glare for passersby, he exuded an air of perpetual disgruntlement that Greg could appreciate. </p><p>Greg attached small leather anklets to Tiny’s feet, and pushed the leather jesses through the metal grommets. He attached the ends of the jesses to a leash. He pulled on a short leather falconry glove that protected his hand and wrist. Though Tiny’s talons were quite small, Greg did his best to give an impression of “safety first” to the public eye. He held out his gloved hand before Tiny. “Step up,” he said.</p><p>Tiny hopped onto Greg’s covered wrist. Greg pressed his thumb over the jesses and wrapped the leash around his fingers. </p><p>“You ready for your walk, sir?” </p><p>Tiny stared at Greg with an incredulous widening of his eyes.</p><p>“Thought so.” They headed out.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The screech owl blinked in the early morning sun, his head swiveling like a satellite as he caught the sound of birdsong and the flicker of sunlight and shadows among the spring leaves and buds of the trees. Greg watched as his feathered companion’s sharp eyes took in their surroundings: a forest of maple, cherry, hickory, beech, oak, and birch. A dying cedar echoed with the drilling of a woodpecker, sharp and steady. The soft yellow blooms of spicebush dotted the landscape as a reminder that spring had arrived. Birds flitted from branch to branch, chipmunks squeaked as they ran for cover, and squirrels chattered among themselves.</p><p>Standing just under six feet, Greg liked to think he was a good match for Tiny, who stood just under six inches. His premature silver hair even matched the shades of Tiny’s grey feathers. They were a popular pair among the trail regulars: runners and walkers and birders alike. One of his favorite treks was a quick southern loop through the woods that opened out into a field of dried little bluestem grasses riddled with wildflowers. This early in the year, the meadow was mowed, with only glimpses of early green leaves at the crowns of mowed stalks. Here, Greg could see the figure of another person at the other end of the meadow, walking toward them on the trail.</p><p>“Ah, it’s Candy incoming,” Greg said to Tiny. The owl flashed him an imperious scowl. “Now, don’t go being rude. She’s a big fan of yours.”</p><p>Tiny turned his face away.</p><p>Greg just grinned and kept walking. When he got close enough, he waved. “Mornin’!”</p><p>“Mornin’ Greg,” Candy greeted, approaching slowly with her walking stick in hand. Candace “Candy” Tomaselli was about sixty, with a vivacious grin and a blaze of white hair. She wore khakis and a light jacket, with black binoculars hanging from her neck. “How’s Tiny this morning?” </p><p>“Doing well. Great spring weather always makes him happy for our walks.”</p><p>“Me too.” Her blue eyes zeroed in on Tiny though she spoke to Greg. “I’m not one for rain anymore.”</p><p>“See anything interesting, yet?”</p><p>“I definitely saw a redheaded woodpecker over in the snags by the brook. Unbelievable.” Candy smiled, her crow’s feet deepening around her eyes.</p><p>“Wow, can’t believe they’re coming up this far.”</p><p>“Climate change.”</p><p>Greg sighed. “Yeah. Does something else for our bird lists. Have you checked the barred owl nest?”</p><p>“Haven’t seen the adults yet. You?”</p><p>“Been listening for them in the afternoons. Haven’t heard them yet.”</p><p>“Well, let me know.”</p><p>“‘Course. See ya around.”</p><p>“See ya soon, Greg.” Candy started to step forward, but paused. “And, oh, saw a new birder this morning. Guy looks pretty green, fancy shoes and all, but he’s a fount of knowledge when it comes to ID and Latin names. Interesting guy. You should definitely say hi to him.” Her eyes twinkled a bit at that. Ever since she found out Greg was gay, she’d been talking about hooking him up with this guy or that guy.</p><p>Greg resisted rolling his eyes. “I will, of course. Tiny tends to attract attention.”</p><p>“Ayup, that he does.” She waved a hand and strolled on. “Be seein’ you!”</p><p>Greg wandered on, following the trail back into the wooded part of the land, bathing in dappled warm light and cool shadow, looking through the trees for signs of wildlife. When the path opened up again, another part of the meadow lay before him. A bird winged by, a flash of black and white with a dash of red. When it landed on a snag at the edge of the meadow, Greg got a better look. It was a yellow-bellied sapsucker, a spritely member of the woodpecker family. That’s when he caught sight of the profile of a man standing in the bright morning sun.</p><p>The stranger was looking through an expensive looking pair of binoculars. His hair glinted with red, and his skin was clear, like porcelain. He wore snug fitting khaki pants, a moss green button-down, and a khaki vest. His laced up boots looked brand new, not a speck of mud on them from where Greg was standing. He was tall with a graceful lankiness that put a little heat in Greg’s gut. </p><p>Tiny spotted the man and stilled. </p><p>“Well, here goes,” Greg whispered.</p><p>As he approached, the man lowered his binoculars and faced them. </p><p>He looked like he was about Greg’s age. His eyes were blue-grey, like pebbles in a brook.</p><p>
  <em> Mmmm. Nice eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Down, Greg! </em>
</p><p>Greg smiled and nodded to the stranger. “Good morning.”</p><p>The man took notice of the little owl on his glove and blinked. “Good morning. Is that a <em> Megascops asio </em> on your glove?”</p><p>
  <em> Oh my god, he’s got a British accent! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Down, Greg! </em>
</p><p>“Yes. This is Tiny. He lives up at the center - indoors - and I like to take him out about twice a week. I think he enjoys the outdoors.” The little owl regarded the man with what seemed like suspicion, but screech owls often look angry or perturbed. </p><p>“My, what a fortunate bird to have such a dedicated handler.” Though the man smiled, his gaze was cool and appraising.</p><p>
  <em> Holy fucking shit. This man is gorgeous. </em>
</p><p>“It’s no hardship for me.” Greg puffed his chest a bit. “I love an early morning walk, and I love making my birds happy.”</p><p>The man’s smile grew warmer. “Admirable.”</p><p>“I’m Greg. I work here.” </p><p>“Mycroft.”</p><p>
  <em> Shit, he’s not only British; he’s got a name like only an aristocrat would. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Down, Greg! </em>
</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you. Are you out here for the birds?”</p><p>“It’s a rather new occupation of mine - birding. It’s strangely fascinating and yet, supremely satisfying.”</p><p>“Absolutely. I’m a lover of birds, myself. Obviously.” He grinned as he gestured toward Tiny with his free hand. “If you come by the center, I’d be happy to give you a tour of our resident birds on exhibit.”</p><p>“That sounds delightful.” Mycroft clasped the binoculars behind his back. “Are you always at work this early?”</p><p>“No, actually. I live on the property, and when I take my morning walks, I like to grab one of the indoor birds, so long as the weather is good. I start at 9 and I’m around until 5. Just ask for me by name.”</p><p>“Thank you, Greg.”</p><p>“My pleasure.” Greg winked. <em> Don’t come on too strong - he might not even be gay. </em></p><p>
  <em> But he might be. </em>
</p><p>They stood about eight feet apart. Between them, a large butterfly appeared in something like a dance - darting back and forth and then a lazy swoop with a gentle landing on the ground. The wings opened to reveal hickory brown edged with pale, creamy yellow. Above the yellow edging were eye-catching cornflower blue spots. Neither man spoke for a few moments as the butterfly rested. </p><p>“A gorgeous specimen,” Mycroft remarked in the quiet.</p><p>“The mourning cloak butterfly,” Greg said. He glanced over at the dead tree where he’d last seen the yellow-bellied sapsucker. “It’s the earliest emerging butterfly in the spring. They usually follow the yellow-bellied sapsucker. Wherever they drill into live wood, sap leaks and the butterfly feeds on it.”</p><p>Mycroft’s eyes met his. It was like lightning whipping through him. “Fascinating,” the man said. </p><p>At that moment, something inside his chest shifted. A recognition. Almost like a <em>remembering</em> of something he hadn't known he forgot. </p><p>
  <em> Does he feel it too? </em>
</p><p>Then the guy’s hands moved and a gold wedding band glinted on his right hand. </p><p>Greg’s heart fell into his stomach. <em> Married</em>? But it wasn’t the left hand. Did Brits wear their wedding rings on the left or right hand?</p><p>Was he gay? Did he think Greg was? Would he have a problem with it?</p><p>
  <em> Slow your roll.</em>
</p><p>The butterfly snapped open its wings and lifted back into the air and away over the meadow.</p><p>“Well, I’ll be on my way.” He shifted his weight to step forward. “Nice meeting you, Mycroft. Please visit. I really think you’d love to see our birds up close.”</p><p>“I think you’re right,” Mycroft nodded. “I’ll come by this afternoon, if that suits?”</p><p>“It does.” Greg’s heart gave a little leap, and his cheeks ached with his wide grin. “Enjoy your morning.”</p><p>“Likewise.”</p><p>Greg couldn’t help but feel elated and shaky as he walked along the meadow edge, further away from the British man. <em> Even if he isn’t gay, it’d be nice to talk to someone different about birds. Maybe we could be friends. I wondered if he’s moved here or if he’s just vacationing… </em></p><p>Tiny looked perturbed, one feathery ‘eyebrow’ quirked. </p><p>“Listen, it’s been a while for me, okay?” Greg said. </p><p>Tiny blinked and turned to watch the trees. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>After putting Tiny back in his enclosure, Greg made a trip to the greenhouse located at the back of the Center building. The little polycarbonate and steel building was warm with humid air on the inside. It smelled of rich earth. Black pots containing soil and green sprouts lined rows of benches. Doctor Molly Hooper leaned over one bench with a slight frown on her pale face. In her blue fleece and jeans, with her chestnut brown hair in a sleek ponytail, she was the very picture of casual. They’d worked together six years, and were the kind of friends who shared almost everything. </p><p>“Heya Molly. Not going well?”</p><p>Her frown deepened. She had one of those upturned noses that lent a child-like air about her, but it didn’t detract from her serious demeanor at that moment. “Just worried about...well, Toby totally overwatered these over the weekend. That intern is going to end up messing up these trials. And I’m going to screw him over if he does.”</p><p>“Yikes.” </p><p>She screwed her face into a grimace. “Yeah. Well, it’s like he doesn’t understand that this study is important to me. We have funders to answer to, but also if we can determine what cultivars benefit the local ecology - “</p><p>“Yeah. I get it. Better talk to him about it.”</p><p>She brought a purple pen up to her mouth and chewed on the end of it, her eyes losing focus. Strands of her hair hung in her face, and she shoved them back with a quick burst of air from her lips. “Yeah, I will.” His old boyfriend Jack had called Molly ‘mousey’ and ‘awkward,’ but Greg had seen the steel in her back when it came to her work. She straightened and turned her head to look at him. “What’s up?” </p><p>“You taking the afternoon shift at the front desk?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Great.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocked back on his heels. “Um, I met this guy out on the trails-”</p><p>“A guy?” Her clay brown eyes snapped to his and her lips curved into an impish smile. Just like that, her annoyance with the errant intern disappeared.</p><p>“Um, I don’t know if it’s like that.” <em> Jesus Christ, Greg, get yourself together. </em></p><p>“Then what’s it like?” Her smile grew bigger. “You’re blushing!”</p><p>“He’s...good looking. Tall. His face is...aristocratic…”</p><p>“<em>Aristocratic</em>? What does that mean?” </p><p>“He’s...he’s got this nose that belongs in theater.”</p><p>Molly’s jaw dropped and then she snickered as she shook her head. “I don’t know what that means, but you always did have a thing for interesting noses.”</p><p>“And blue eyes. I have a thing for blue eyes on tall guys.” Greg grinned and waggled his eyebrows.</p><p>“Listen to you!” she said, pointing at him with her pen. “What’s this got to do with my shift? Oh! He’s coming by?”</p><p>“He is. But I don’t know if he’s gay! And he’s got a ring, but it’s on the wrong hand.”</p><p>“A wedding ring? On the other hand? Then maybe he’s not married.” She tucked her loose strands behind her ear.</p><p>“Maybe, but he’s British. Do they wear their rings on the other hand?”</p><p>“I-I don’t think I ever noticed. I’m pretty sure it’s the same hand we use. Something to do with that hand being closer to the heart, I think. And he’s British?” Molly crossed her arms and leaned against the bench. “Does he have an accent?”</p><p>“That’s how I know he’s British.”</p><p>“Sounds dreamy.” She smoothed one hand over her hair again. “Okay, what do you want me to do when he gets in? Offer him a membership? Find out if he’s got a family he needs to sign up to one of our programs? Get him on the mailing list?”</p><p>“Slow down.” He held one palm up. “I don’t know that this’ll lead to anything. Even if he isn’t married, he might be straight.”</p><p>“I thought you had gaydar.”</p><p>Greg groaned as he dropped his hands to his sides. “It’s not always that easy, Molly.”</p><p>“Okay, okay. Sorry.” She held up both hands in protest, one still gripping the purple pen. “So, I should find out if he’s attached to someone?”</p><p>“How on earth are you going to do that without it being weird? All I want you to do is to page me. I’m going to give him a tour of the bird exhibit.”</p><p>“Oh, a personal tour? Maybe you’ll find out more about him that way.”</p><p>“Yeah. We’ll see.” Greg scratched his jaw, wishing he’d taken the time to shave away the stubble that morning. “Do I look all right? I mean, he saw me already today, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”</p><p>“You look great. You’re a fox, Greg.” She grinned at him, looking smug. “I’m still going to try and find out if he’s married for you.”</p><p>Greg laughed as he rolled his eyes. “Thanks for having my back.”</p><p>“Always.” She picked up a clipboard and flipped to the previous page. “I’ll definitely talk to you later.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg couldn’t help it as he popped into the bathroom to check himself over in the mirror. It had been a long time since he’d felt this excited about meeting someone. It was a small pond in northwestern Connecticut, and it’d become microscopic after the breakup with Jack.</p><p>His excitement deflated somewhat when he saw Sammy washing his hands at the sink. </p><p>Sammy Donovan was younger by several years, with smooth brown skin and tight black curls shorn close to his scalp. He was a good looking guy who got a lot of appreciative attention, though some people didn’t treat him right after they realized he was trans. That had never mattered to Greg and they’d been good friends for years.</p><p>Until Jack, anyway.</p><p>
  <em> Just keep your cool, like usual. He’s so far in deep with Andy, he hasn’t even been looking at other guys. </em>
</p><p>Greg exchanged a nod with Sammy in the mirror’s reflection. He made himself stand at a urinal and empty whatever was in his bladder. He didn’t need Sammy to see him preening in the mirror. He’d ask what it was about, and they’d only just renewed their friendship. <em> We might be talking again, but we’re not that friendly. </em></p><p>When Sammy left the room, Greg washed his hands and ran them through his hair to give it a kind of spiky, cool look. <em> I hope it’s cool. </em>All the work he did around the Center kept his body fit, though time had deepened the lines of his face. With his cleft chin, toothy smile, and chocolate-brown eyes, he knew he could still turn heads. </p><p>Even though it was too easy to get doughy at his age, he tried his best.</p><p>Remnants of an old conversation spilled into his mind:</p><p>
  <em> Looking like the middle age spread is creeping up on you, love. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Gee, thanks, Jack. What every man loves to hear. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hey, I’m just trying to help you. I love you and you’re a sexy beast. I want to keep my beast sexy. </em>
</p><p>Greg shook his head and straightened the collar of his shirt. He hated how Jack’s voice still haunted his thoughts. Five years with a man who left him shattered and unmoored, and could have cared less about the ruin he left in his wake. </p><p>That break was two years ago, and while Greg had scored a couple times, he was an anathema in the local gay community. Jack had made sure of that.</p><p>“Fucker,” he whispered darkly. He sighed. If Mycroft was gay, and if he was new to the area, he might not have heard the rumors. Maybe Greg would have a chance.</p><p>But that was only if he was interested in men, and only if he was interested in Greg.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I work as a naturalist and many of the events described in this fic on that side of things have happened to me or to another person in my line of work.  I am a licensed wildlife rehabilitator as well. I am not a licensed falconer. I am friends with falconers and handle birds of prey as part of my work. The difference is that a falconer would take healthy, whole birds hunting. I take birds that are permanently injured (and therefore cannot be released back to the wild) to schools and community centers and teach about these birds to the public. Falconry is a fascinating practice, but I'm not personally interested in hunting.</p><p>In Connecticut, falconers can only trap juvenile birds. An apprentice has to release their bird after a certain period of time. Other falconers can keep their birds longer, but as we’re talking about birds that can live anywhere from 20-40 (some 60) years in captivity depending on the species, the likelihood is that all falconry birds, barring illness or injury, will be released back into the wild before they’re old. Some falconers make a practice of releasing their birds every few years.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Spring Courting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I always like to share the musical artists who inspired me while writing a story. The playlist for this fic can be found <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1HpARl4qigYld1LBaDqYgI">on Spotify</a>. </p><p>I'm Vulpesmellifera on Twitter and Tumblr. Come say hi!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>At two years of age and in the early spring, the red-tailed hawk will seek the mate they hope will become their lifetime partner. That special someone will have molted their juvenile feathers and grown in their own rust-red tail - but the more important part is their ability to dance. In the air. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The mating display of the red-tailed hawk is an elaborate spectacle in which the two birds will swoop, glide, dive, and tumble through the winds in a staggering, beautiful portrayal of courtship. At times, they lock beaks, or talons, and twist in a trust fall that would push our hearts into our throats. Each year, the pair will return to the same territory to raise another brood. While partners can be lost and replaced, so long as both birds are alive and well, they’ll return to each other in the dawning of the spring, again and again and again. <br/><br/></em>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Molly’s voice rang through the intercom system in the second floor offices: “Greg, you have a visitor at the front desk.”</p><p>The butterflies in his stomach began their riot. Moths and skippers, too. He ran his hands through his hair and glanced at his reflection in the computer screen before he stood up. </p><p>The lobby had double glass doors and big windows that looked out onto pines. The carpet was a mottled green leafy motif worn in the places that suffered the most foot traffic. Shelves lining the walls held nests, bones, furs, potted ferns, rocks, minerals, taxidermy, and nature themed artworks. Large, potted plants brought life to the corners of the room and by the large windows. One display case held vivariums with frogs, toads, salamanders and tarantulas. </p><p>Mycroft stood by the front desk, which was simply a plain wooden counter with a laptop, pamphlets, and cups of pens. He’d changed into a button down, collared shirt and what looked like tweed herringbone trousers. His shoes looked like well-crafted leather. Whoever this was, he had expensive taste, and he looked just slightly out of place in the outdated shabbiness around him. Greg couldn’t help but feel a little frumpy and scruffy himself in the Brit’s presence.</p><p>He forced a smile anyway. “Mycroft, I’m so glad you stopped by.”</p><p>“How could I not leap at such a generous offer?” Mycroft’s voice was smooth and melodic, like a well-tuned organ. “Thank you again, for allowing me such a splendid opportunity.”</p><p>“My pleasure, my pleasure.” Greg grinned at him, now feeling more relaxed. </p><p>Molly smirked at him from her perch at the desk behind Mycroft.</p><p>Greg ignored her. “Let’s head to the exhibit. Shall we do the outdoors, first?”</p><p>“If you think it best. Lead the way, my good man.” Greg basked in the man’s smile like he would the sun on a summer day at the beach. What was it about this stranger that had captured his interest so profoundly?</p><p>Greg tried not to peek at him as they walked. Mycroft’s auburn hair was slicked back with product, and a slight smile played around on his lips. Kissable lips.</p><p>Greg banished the thought and focused on his tour. He tried not to cringe when, as they walked through the doors into the outdoor exhibit, he could spot repairs needed on multiple mews. The crows needed a new roof. The door at the eagles showed signs of rot in the bottom left corner. Warping could be seen on the panels inside the snowy owl cage. A cold sensation crept across his shoulders. Would Mycroft notice the shabbiness of the old enclosures? Greg power-washed them twice a year and repainted them every two years. He tended to repairs and big projects as his time allowed, but he could see now where paint peeled, where bird poop stuck to walls like dry cement, and where green mildew flourished along frames.</p><p>“Let’s begin at this end,” he said and hoped his voice sounded cheerful. There was nothing to do for it now but get Mycroft to focus on the birds themselves. “All of these birds are nonreleasable. In the US, you can’t have a native bird without a permit, and you can’t own a releasable bird - aside from falconers. These birds on display are on our education permit through US Fish and Wildlife. We have birds on rehab permits in the prerelease pen, and then some of us have birds on falconry licenses.”</p><p>“Are you a falconer, Greg?”</p><p>“Yep.” Greg smiled. “I have a gorgeous red tail hawk at home. Artemis.”</p><p>“Ah, the Lady of Wild Things. A lovely name.”</p><p>“Ha. I was going to call her Coffee. Can’t live without it.”</p><p>Mycroft chuckled, his hands held behind his back in a casual stance. “Favorite breakfast group?”</p><p>“Used to be.” Greg’s smile turned sheepish. “I do my best to eat better, but coffee and donuts are a fallback.”</p><p>“Heavens. I’m a crumpets and tea man, myself.”</p><p>“That...seems stereotypically British.” Greg held in his laughter.</p><p>Mycroft did laugh, and it was rich, musical, like a woodwind instrument played by a master. “And by home, do you mean this hawk lives in your house?”</p><p>“Outside. I built a mews for them.”</p><p>“A mews?”</p><p>“The cage.”</p><p>“Ah, I had not realized that that particular term made it across the pond. The mews in London referred to the royal stables, built at the time that the king’s hawks were mewed.” </p><p>“I - did not know that,” Greg said. He hid his blush by peering into the nearby mews. </p><p>“Who’s this beauty?” They paused in front of the first cage. Inside, an immense snowy owl sat on a waist-high branch and glared at them with one brilliant yellow eye. When feeling whimsical, Greg imagined her as some great oracle, a beholder of an all-seeing eye. Or, when the mood struck her, an angry cyclops hell-bent on taking a chunk out of human flesh.</p><p>“Diamond. She’s a rescue from a few years back,” Greg  said. “Car accident. Clipped her wing and the vet had to remove an eye. She’s got a lot of sass, though.”</p><p>“Sass?” Mycroft drawled.</p><p>“Yeah,” Greg nodded. “Believe me, she can be sweet as pie when she wants to be, but then she’ll turn on you in an instant, if she doesn’t get her way. Sass.”</p><p>Mycroft’s eyebrows raised. “I’m not sure I realized that owls could have such colorful personalities.”</p><p>“Well, we tend to anthropomorphize them of course, but I feel, with certain birds you can definitely see a personality emerge after spending some time with them. The barred owls are shyer and more fearful. Diamond might get scared sometimes, but she’ll bluff you first. The barn owls are a mix of the two. Screech owls are like the chihuahua of the group.”</p><p>“Yappy?”</p><p>“In a way. Tiny but mighty.”</p><p>“And where is the illustrious Tiny?”</p><p>“He’s part of the indoor exhibit.”</p><p>“Ah. I look forward to our reacquaintance.”</p><p>The next mews housed an aloof barn owl with an aquiline profile. Greg thought immediately of the man standing beside him. “This one is Winston.”</p><p>“Winston?”</p><p>“He’s a European barn owl. One of yours,” Greg joked.</p><p>“Indeed? He does have the pale constitution of a caucasian Londoner. Not quite as rotund as Churchill.”</p><p>“Well, his diet is more mice and fewer crumpets.”</p><p>Mycroft’s eyes flashed with amusement. “I suppose that would account for his trim waistline.”</p><p>The warmth coiling in his gut started to rise into his chest. He forced himself to look away from the man’s face and into the mews. “Winston was raised by people. He thinks he’s one of us. A great bird for beginners. Steps right up to the glove like a pro, and stays calm during educational programs.”</p><p>“I noticed from the literature available in the lobby that you have quite a few educational programs available to the public.”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s one of my favorite things. I mean, I love working with the birds, but to be able to share that love with an audience and get them excited about their local fauna - it’s a privilege, really.”</p><p>Greg became aware that Mycroft was watching him very carefully while he answered, instead of looking at Winston. His cheeks flushed, and he walked quickly to the next cage. Two barred owls with dark eyes blinked at them from a corner of the enclosure.</p><p>“Lucy and Stripes. Bonded pair. Lucy can fly, but she only has one eye which affects her depth perception. Stripes has a fractured wing.”</p><p>“How did these birds come by their injuries?”</p><p>“Car accidents.”</p><p>“Like Diamond?”</p><p>“Like Diamond.”</p><p>“Goodness, I didn’t realize so many raptors hunted along roadsides.”</p><p>“It’s the number one cause of death and injury to birds of prey.”</p><p>“How unfortunate.”</p><p>“Mostly they hunt animals who come to the roadside for food,” Greg said. “And often, those animals come to the roadside for food because people throw food garbage out the windows of their cars.”</p><p>“Do they?” Mycroft looked astonished.</p><p>“Well, yes.” Greg shrugged away his embarrassment. “When I was growing up, my mom would give us an apple or a banana on road trips. When I was left with the apple core or the banana peel, she told me to throw it out the window along the roadside, particularly if there were bushes there. She said it didn’t matter because either an animal would eat it, or it would biodegrade.</p><p>“What she and I didn’t realize is that those animals would, of course, attract their predators, such as birds of prey. When a hawk or an owl spies a prey animal by the side of the road, they dive for that animal. They get a kind of tunnel vision and they barely see the car coming until it’s too late.”</p><p>A sparrow flew through the fencing and into the barred owl cage. They’d been building a nest in the upper corner and the owls were well fed enough to leave the little birds alone. “So, now I know better, and I tell other people. Keep your food garbage inside the car until you’ve reached your destination. Then place it in a trash can or a compost pile.”</p><p>“I’m not sure I would have made the connection either as a lad.”</p><p>Greg smiled at the use of the word ‘lad.’ “So, what brings you to the US?” He asked the question a little too loudly. <em> Be casual. Be casual. </em></p><p>“I work for the Civil Service. I’m here for some cross-cultural discussions that are to take place in Washington, and also at the United Nations building in New York.”</p><p>“Um, well, then I’m surprised you’re not staying in the city. This is a little far north.”</p><p>“I’m also visiting some family in the area. Plus, I’m told the Berkshires are lovely, and I had to see it for myself.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s nice. Do you go birding in England, as well?”</p><p>“A new hobby, as I said, but I do like to get outside when I can. It brings me peace. I thought I’d sample the American avian wildlife while I was here.” Mycroft brought out his phone. “I downloaded the Merlin app from Cornell University’s Ornithology Lab. It amuses me to think of myself as a citizen scientist, and to contribute to the work of Cornell.”</p><p>Greg nodded. “That app’s a great one. I use it myself when I want to report something unusual in an area. And community science is so important. We have programs encouraging people to take part in various programs throughout the year.”</p><p>Greg wondered for a moment if he should invite Mycroft to their next Community Science event. <em> Should I do it? Would he come? </em></p><p>Mycroft had placed his phone back in his pants pocket and was placidly observing the barred owls.</p><p>“In fact,” Greg said, “how much do you like amphibians?”</p><p>Mycroft broke into a big smile. “Pardon?”</p><p>“Our next Community Science event is FrogWatch. We serve some drinks and some snacks, go through a PowerPoint on eleven species of frogs and toads found in New England, and then play YouTube videos of their calls - which is hysterical, by the way. Then we head out to the vernal pools in the woods, and listen to what species of frogs are out there. There’s one once a month, March through June. April’s night is next week.” </p><p>“It’s at night?”</p><p>“That’s when the frogs and toads get busy.” Greg winked. <em> Oh my god, did I just wink at him while referring to frog sex? </em> Greg kept smiling, pretending this was the natural thing to do. “If you’re not busy, you should check it out.”</p><p>“You’re quite serious about community science.”</p><p>“I am. Kids, in this political climate, are being taught to ignore science, or to doubt it. And while a little doubt is healthy in anything, ignoring empirical evidence is a problem. And too many kids and their parents are disconnected from nature. They’re missing out on a lot of good stuff for their mental and physical health.” Greg rubbed the back of his neck. “But, that’s enough of my soapbox for now. Shall we meet the next bird?”</p><p>“You are a veritable fount of knowledge in an area where I am sorely lacking. It is most refreshing, Greg.” </p><p>His ears pinked. “It’s what I love, and I’m happy to share what I love with others. Speaking of which, in the next mews, we have Phantom, the peregrine falcon.”</p><p>“Partial to peregrine falcons?” Phantom peered at them with sharp eyes and quickly hopped down his branches, further away from the humans peering in. </p><p>Greg lifted one shoulder. “They’re an exciting bird. Can dive at speeds up to 200 miles per hour, and hit their prey like a cannonball. Small bird with a lot of guff.”</p><p>“Amazing.” Mycroft stepped closer to the mews to view Phantom. </p><p>Of course, anytime he thought of Phantom or peregrine falcons in general, Greg thought of his daughter. She had joined the track team in hopes her name would transfer some speed, and while she was fast, she wasn’t quite fast enough for the statewide competitions. She loved it anyway, though. Until she decided vlogging and gaming was more fun. </p><p>
  <em> Should I mention my daughter? </em>
</p><p>It had been so long since Greg had dated anyone. After Jack there had been a trip to Cape Cod that ended with a mutual hand job at a club, but no one remotely serious. The scene here was too small and it was too easy to run into Jack. Greg avoided that at all costs. </p><p>And now he wasn’t sure what the protocol was. Obviously, anyone he dated would need to understand that Peri came first, but how soon did he have to reveal that information? Most gay men didn’t have kids. The whole story of how Peri came about was a little embarrassing, but Greg wouldn’t change it for the world. His relationship with Peri’s mother was solid. Some men might be intimidated by how close the three of them were. Jack certainly was.</p><p>
  <em> And you don’t even know if he’s gay, or interested. So don’t get ahead of yourself. </em>
</p><p>“What brought you to this line of work?” Mycroft distracted him from his snowballing thoughts. </p><p>“Oh, uh, well. You know, I didn’t really know what I wanted to be as kid. Then one day we had this school assembly, and this guy came and introduced us to all kinds of animals. But, the coolest thing I’d ever seen in my life at that point was when he brought out this big hawk. I just remember thinking, ‘oh my god, this guy is the coolest guy in the world.’” He laughed, a little embarrassed at the admission. “I was twelve. But, it made an impression on me. Later, I thought I’d be a cop or something. Then I met some people who were doing zoology and environmental studies when I moved to Connecticut. It reminded me of that guy. And I decided to do environmental studies.”</p><p>“Mm. Did you ever see the man again?”</p><p>“No. Just the one time. I remember his name was Dean.” Almost thirty years ago.</p><p>They continued down the line, meeting Isabeau the red-tailed hawk; the American crows known collectively as The Borg; Allan the raven; Xena the broad-shouldered hawk; the vultures Hannibal and Graham; and Valor the American bald eagle. One of the crows, nicknamed Picard, greeted them in French.</p><p>“She can say hello in six different languages.”</p><p>“How unusual. Is it unusual? Astonishing.” Mycroft’s eyes were wide.</p><p>“Unusual, yes. But crows are very smart birds. David Quammen writes about a really interesting account about crows - they suffer from being too smart and can get easily bored. There are documented incidents of crows taking mouthfuls of ants and rubbing their bodies with them for the stimulus. The ants produce formic acid and it's...kind of like a human getting high just for the fun of it." He chuckled. "And they can count and remember people who were cruel to them and can communicate what those people look like to others.”</p><p>“I’ve read that they are quite smart, but I had no idea it was to that extent. How delightful.”</p><p>
  <em> Should I ask him again about the FrogWatch event? </em>
</p><p>Greg wanted more of this man. Handsome, tall - and Greg loved tall. Cultured in a way that intrigued Greg - but maybe it was just the accent. His voice was beautiful, and his face expressive. </p><p>
  <em> I wonder what he looks like when he’s lain out on a bed with his - </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Down, Greg! </em>
</p><p>Greg hoped his blush didn’t show as he walked them to the indoor exhibit. The indoor exhibit comprised a row of wire aviaries on one side and a row of glass enclosures on the other. The glass enclosures held a variety of animals, such as skunks, opossums, snakes, lizards, and turtles.</p><p>Mycroft was tickled to see Tiny back in his wire enclosure with his friend Teeny. The little owls stared at them with wide eyes. </p><p>“You didn’t say there were two of them,” Mycroft said, his smile bigger than it had been outside.</p><p>“I guess I didn’t,” Greg said, his cheeks feeling stretched with all his beaming. “And these two over here are Kira and Fawkes. They’re American kestrels.”</p><p>The two kestrels regarded the men with sharp eyes, tilted heads, and stock-still bodies. </p><p>The rest of the exhibit also had pigeons, mourning doves, monk parakeets, a cardinal, a tree swallow,  a blue jay, a mockingbird, and a cedar waxwing. Mycroft was particularly enamored with the little tree swallow, although he was also impressed with the mockingbird’s range of sounds - car alarms and guinea pig “wheeks” alike. </p><p>“Greg, I can’t thank you enough for taking me on a tour. Really, it has been a pleasure.”</p><p>“Pleasure’s mine.” Buoyed, Greg decided to risk it. “Can I count on you for FrogWatch? I promise it’s worth it.”</p><p>“I shall check my schedule. Have you a brochure for the program?”</p><p>“Right at the front desk. Let’s get you one.”</p><p>“I appreciate it.”</p><p>Molly near quivered with excitement as she handed Greg a brochure. Greg ignored her and turned to Mycroft. He was still trying to play it cool, and Molly made him jittery with her barely concealed excitement. </p><p>“Here you go. Hope to see you around, Mycroft. If not at FrogWatch, then on the trails.”</p><p>“Yes, indeed.” Mycroft tucked the brochure into his pocket. He straightened up and squared his shoulders. “Well, I must take my leave.”</p><p>Greg’s chest stirred with panic. He held his grin in place, and extended his hand. “Happy trails.”</p><p>
  <em> God, I’m so fucking dumb. Stupid, stupid! </em>
</p><p>Mycroft took his hand. His skin was smooth, warm, and dry. His grip was firm, and Greg’s cock took immediate interest.</p><p>“And to you, Greg.” Mycroft nodded and then he let go of Greg’s hand, turned, and walked out the double doors. An opportunity slipping away into the sunset.</p><p>“Happy trails?!” Molly shrieked like a quaker parrot.</p><p>Greg cringed. “I panicked! I’m not good at this!”</p><p>“Did you seriously invite him to FrogWatch?!” she shrilled, throwing her hands into the air.</p><p>“I-I don’t even know if he’s gay! I didn’t want to ask him out to coffee right then, I’m working right now!”</p><p>“That’s an excuse, Greg!” </p><p>“I know, I know. But, seriously, I can’t just go willy-nilly hitting on guests. And the man’s here from <em> England. </em>”</p><p>“So, have some fun! Hit it and quit it!” She grinned at him.</p><p>“Did - did you seriously just tell me to ‘hit it and quit it’? What have you done with Molly Hooper?”</p><p>She snorted in answer, giggling behind her fists as her elbows pressed into the counter. </p><p>“What’s all this?” Henric Mercer, a bear of a man with a full beard and broad shoulders appeared at the mouth of the hallway. Greg liked him - he was a laid-back guy who knew just how much energy to exert to keep the place in tip-top shape. He’d been the executive director for five years, and no one on the staff had beef with him. When he’d been offered the house on the property as part of his employment package by the Board of Directors, he passed it by, preferring his house he owned in the next town over. Greg got the house instead. </p><p>“Greg’s got a crush on this guy from England - oh! You don’t suppose Sherlock knows him?”</p><p>“What, just because Sherlock is from England, you think he knows every English guy that comes visiting?” Greg said.</p><p>“Well, what was his last name?”</p><p>“Didn’t get it.” He deflated like a junkyard tire. </p><p>“You’re hopeless,” Molly chided.</p><p>“I agree,” Henric said as he walked to the counter and pressed up against it, tossing a wink toward Molly. </p><p>Greg huffed. “Did I ask for anyone’s opinion? No? I’m going to my office. I don’t want to hear it from either of you.”</p><p>Molly and Henric were still snickering as Greg jogged up the stairs to his office, flushed with a sense of foolishness. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>FrogWatch is a real thing and it’s awesome. Becoming a FrogWatch volunteer is very easy. If you live in the US, check to see if you have <a href="https://www.aza.org/frogwatch">your own chapter</a>. </p><p>There are other amazing community/citizen science programs out there, and they are way more important than people realize. I strongly encourage anyone who is able to participate!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. In the Family of Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Among the earliest spring bloomers in New England are the maples, particularly silver maples. We don’t generally think of these large canopy trees as having flowers, but nonetheless, they persist in blooming on cold spring days year after year. They’re neither large nor flashy, nothing we’d think of purposely planting in a butterfly garden, but they provide an important source of nectar and pollen for emerging pollinators. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It seems a truism that the very things that are needed in this life are the things we don’t often notice. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The studio had a shiny, clean wooden floor and a wall of floor to ceiling windows. Sheer curtains allowed diffused natural light to spill into the room. A small shrine with the statues if Buddha, Ganesh, and Shiva sat in front of the middle window. White candles framed the statues on holders made of quartz crystal. It was the pristine clean, gleaming-surfaces-everywhere type of place that promised peace of mind and “getting out of your head and into your body.”</p><p>The room was half filled with people in stretchy clothes and their yoga mats. Jordana and Peregrine waited side by side on theirs; Jo sitting in <em> baddha konasana </em> on a teal blue mat and Peri stretched out on a purple one.</p><p>“Hi there!” Greg unrolled his mat - steel grey with bursts of scattered white fireworks - onto the floor just behind them. </p><p>Peri sat up. “Hey, dad.”</p><p>Jo twisted in her spot to look at him. “Hi.” She grinned. Jo was gorgeous - full lips and white teeth, hazel eyes and dark, golden brown skin. Her braids were dark at the roots and sun-bleached at the ends. In her slim fitting yoga pants and curve-flattering top, Greg was often the envy of the other men in class. They didn’t advertise that they weren’t actually together, and Jo seemed to prefer it that way. </p><p>“How’d that geometry test go?” He sat on his mat and turned his attention to his daughter. She’d pulled her curls into a poof on the top of her head. Her dark eyes rolled to the back of her head as she groaned.</p><p>“Why is that your first question? Why not, hey, how’d you and Kayla do on your latest walkthrough?”</p><p>Greg refrained from a loud exhale. “As much as I support your YouTube channel, I am also interested in you doing well with your academics. Now, how’d you do?”</p><p>“<em>Fine. </em> Now, c’mon, we’re supposed to be relaxed for yoga, not stressed out.” She turned her back to him, narrow shoulders exposed by her loose-fitting white tank top. Jo clucked her tongue.</p><p>“Okay, now, how’d your latest YouTube tutorial go?”</p><p>She turned back to face him with a big smile. “We got almost five hundred hits! That was this morning!”</p><p>“And what game did you review?”</p><p>“The latest <em> Assassin’s Creed</em>.” She stretched her arms up overhead. Thin and fine-boned, Peregrine sometimes reminded him of a bird. Something with sleek, beautiful plumage and a sharp beak. </p><p>Jo broke in. “Now, have you done anything that cool this week, <em> dad</em>?”</p><p><em> Might've met someone. </em> He ducked his gaze away. “Nah, you know me. I’m too old to do anything cool.”</p><p>“True that,” Jo said with a sharp laugh. </p><p>“Dad, Markus D’amico is having a pool party this summer and Kayla’s parents said Kayla can only go if I can go, but you and mom have to agree.”</p><p>“Who is Markus D’amico?” Greg looked at Jo.</p><p>“He’s just some guy. We’re going for the pool,” Peri said.</p><p>“Will his parents be there? And, wait, it’s April 12th. You kids are planning pool parties already? Jesus, when I was your age, I barely planned my weekend.”</p><p>“We’re not talking about you right now,” Peri arched a single eyebrow at him. She must have been practicing in a mirror. </p><p>“Answer the question, Peregrine,” said Jo.</p><p>“Yes, of course his parents will be there -”</p><p>“Hello, everyone!” The thin, blonde, tattooed woman at the front of the class caught everyone’s attention with a smooth, cheerful tone. She wore long strings of beads and expensive yogawear draped over her body like curtains.  “Welcome. Spring is in the air, and I am so grateful for the sun today, aren’t you?”</p><p>Greg restrained himself from rolling his eyes as the rest of the class echoed their agreement in varying levels of enthusiasm. Peri glanced back at him and smirked. Greg winked.</p><p>He looked again at Jo as they shifted into their seated positions, cross-legged. He wanted to tell her about Mycroft - not in front of Peri, of course - but, there really wasn’t much to say. </p><p>
  <em> Being a little foolish, Greg. </em>
</p><p>He inhaled with the teacher's instructions, and let his mind melt into the vinyasas of the class. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Oh, it’s your uncle’s birthday today, so be sure to call him and say happy birthday." They stood by the exit doors of the yoga studio, rolled mats tucked under their arms. </p><p>Peri exhaled with the kind of gusto only a teen could manage. “Okay, fine. But I don’t have to talk to him too long, do I?”</p><p>“Listen, you don’t have to give him a treatise on the challenges of being a teenager in this day and age, but you can be polite and give him at least a few sentences. You guys would probably never recognize each other’s voices without the names on your cell phones.”</p><p>Peri shrugged. “It’s not like he calls me on my birthday.”</p><p>“But he does send you a card.”</p><p>“You know it’s grandma sending the card and just signing his name.”</p><p>Greg sighed. She was right. “Fine. We’re going to keep up appearances, though.”</p><p>“Ugh.” Peregrine grabbed her water bottle and headed for the cooler.</p><p>Jo’s lips curved into a smirk. “She’s been a ray of sunshine like this all week.”</p><p>“Well, I can’t blame her. I don’t want to talk to Dan, either.”</p><p>Jo leaned on the wall and watched as Peri filled her water bottle. “Got anything going on this weekend?”</p><p>“Nah. Wanna do dinner?”</p><p>“Sorry, but Marcus is having some work buddies over tonight.”</p><p>“Is this Markus D’amico, or your Marcus?” he teased.</p><p>“Ha ha. How 'bout next weekend?”</p><p>“Yeah, that might be good. Though, I do have the festival on Sunday.”</p><p>“Oh, right.” She fiddled with an earring. “Okay, so we’ll make my Marcus do the cooking. You relax with a beer. I’ll relax with a cocktail. Peri can help him in the kitchen.”</p><p>He grinned. “Bet she loves being volunteered for that sort of thing.”</p><p>“They get along,” Jo laughed. Then she stopped. “Has she said anything to you?”</p><p>“About Marcus?” he said. “No. She says he’s nice. I think she likes him.”</p><p>“Good.” She lowered her gaze.</p><p>Greg bit his lower lip. “Why? Are things getting...serious?”</p><p>“Uh...well, we’re talking about maybe moving in together.” Her eyes flashed to his and then to Peregrine who had finished filling her water bottle at the cooler.</p><p>Greg’s eyes widened. “Wow, Jo. Is this it? The guy?”</p><p>“I really hope so, Greg. I’ve never been so happy.” She smiled at Peregrine as she approached them. “You ready to go, sweetie?”</p><p>Greg faced his daughter. “Another successful yoga adventure.” He held his hand up for a high five, which she answered with an eye roll, but high-fived him anyway. “People fist bump now, dad.”</p><p>“Oh, so sorry for implementing the wrong social protocol. Poor you for having an out-of-touch idiot for a father.”</p><p>“Dad,” Peregrine grinned and threw her arms around him. “I’ll see you in a couple days.”</p><p>Greg’s chest warmed like the center of a hearth. “See you then.”</p><p>She headed out the door. Jo drew him in for a hug.</p><p>“I’m really happy for you,” Greg whispered. “It’ll all turn out fine.”</p><p>She pulled back. “Thanks.” She squeezed his biceps, and then followed her daughter out the door. </p><p>
  <em> Jesus. Maybe if I’d been born straight, I’d be going home with them.  </em>
</p><p>He wouldn’t be lonely anymore. But, this was how things were, and Jo was happy. He could admit he was unhappy with himself, but happy for her, and maybe just a smidge jealous. He rubbed at his chest where the old hurt lay. </p><p>He needed to find someone to be happy with, or, failing that, he needed to learn how to be content with the solitary way of life. Like a hedgehog or a monk, or something.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I’m calling to wish you a happy birthday,” Greg said with a cheerful pitch in his voice. He sat on his couch in front of a blank tv. His acoustic guitar - one he'd picked up at a garage sale while he was in college - lay across his lap. He flexed his fingers - he’d been practicing until he’d realized he was just delaying the inevitable.</p><p>“Thanks,” Dan answered gruffly. They shared the Lestrade roughness, a certain huskiness to their timbre and an almost rushed effort in their cadence, as if in a hurry to say all their words at once. </p><p>“Got any plans?”</p><p>“Eh, taking Nicole to dinner.” </p><p>“Where at?”</p><p>“Probably Red Lobster.” Greg cringed inwardly. His mom and brother lived in Maine near the coast, and the idea of going to a chain restaurant for seafood seemed wrong somehow.</p><p>“Well, enjoy that. How’re the kids?”</p><p>“Fine. Nate is, uh, helping out at the garage.”</p><p>“He’s graduating this year, right? Is he going off to college?”</p><p>“Nah, he doesn’t need to spend that kind of money. He’s got a job at the garage right off the bat.” </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“What do you mean by that?” Greg could hear the edge of accusation in Dan’s tone.</p><p>“I thought he wanted…”</p><p>“I told him he could join the army or stay with us at the shop. He chose the shop.”</p><p>“Oh. Okay.” <em> Change the subject, Greg. </em> “And Evie?”</p><p>“She’s fine. Gets good grades. Wants to be a teacher.”</p><p>“That’s great.”</p><p>“Sure. Hey, listen, I gotta go. Nicole just got here.”</p><p>“Yeah, man, go enjoy your birthday. Tell Nicole I say hello.”</p><p>“Yeah. Bye.” <em> Click. </em></p><p><em> Well, fuck you, too. </em> Greg tossed the phone down on the couch and rubbed his eyes. He opened them to catch Scratch staring at him from the floor. He moved his guitar to the seat cushion next to him. “C’mon up here, old man.”</p><p>The cat hopped up and walked with poky feet into Greg’s lap. He settled there, laying his weight over Greg’s thighs, and began purring like an engine that could be heard in the next room. </p><p>Greg picked up the remote as he stroked the cat behind the ears. “Looks like it’s you, me, and Netflix tonight. Again.” </p><p>Something in his chest ached as he said it. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg raised the bottle to his lips to feel cool, effervescent liquid rush into his mouth and down his throat. It warmed in his belly, fortifying him against the chill in the air of an April evening. The sun descended over the trees and the warm washes of yellow and orange across a newly reborn landscape teased out a feeling in his chest he’d long been ignoring. </p><p>It’d been winter for him for a long time. Jack was two years ago. Tall with a hard body and electric blue eyes, Jack was a catch. His hair was a pale yellow color, like champagne, and curled in an endearing way behind his ears and down his nape. He went to tanning salons and nail spas to keep himself nut-brown and manicured. He’d envied Greg’s olive, easily tanned skin. </p><p>Jack was a liar. A cheater. A heartbreaker. And Greg had wandered about in a desolate, barren wasteland of shock, anger, and grief when he’d discovered Jack’s multiple dalliances with several members of the local gay community. </p><p>It had only gotten worse after that. </p><p>Greg lifted the bottle to his lips again. Jo was always encouraging him to get back out there, but Greg couldn’t go to the local hangouts. Jack took all their friends with them, and nearly took Sammy too, except that he and Greg had to work together. It shrunk the already shallow dating pool into a muddy puddle. Greg had tried to come to a sort of numb acceptance about it, but it was getting ridiculous. </p><p>Mycroft. Meeting the guy was like finding new life, like he’d walked around blinded for too long and then the curtain lifted and the sun came up and here was this fascinating person with a sexy body and hell, he liked birds and birding! </p><p>“You don’t even know if he’s gay,” Greg said. “You’re seeing something that isn’t there.”</p><p>It hurt. Christ, he was hurting. Still.</p><p>“Ugh.” He glanced at his phone. Jo was probably hanging out with Marcus. It was a school night for Peri, and it’s not like he could talk about this stuff with her anyway. Molly?</p><p>
  <em> You gonna call her to complain about your life again, Lestrade? </em>
</p><p>Greg sighed and put his phone away. </p><p>
  <em> Maybe I can call Damien.  </em>
</p><p>Fuck, no. Damien would just tell him to get laid. </p><p>Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.</p><p>He went into his Favorites list on his phone, and hit Damien Fisher. </p><p>It rang. And rang again. Until Damien’s deep voice filled his ear.</p><p>“<em>Hey, it’s Damien. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can. Even better, just text me.” </em></p><p>Greg hit the <em> end call </em> button before the voicemail message ended, but he knew the whole thing by heart. </p><p>A yowl from the screen door jerked him from his thoughts.</p><p>“I know, I know. Look, I’m just lonely, alright? And Jo’s got someone, and hell, even Dan has someone. Nicole. Only met her the one time, but she seemed nice enough.” </p><p>Scratch didn’t answer. Greg could feel disapproval radiating from the tom cat. “Yeah, yeah, I should be satisfied with my own company, right? I mean, I’m forty, right? I have a career I love, and I live in this place, this wonderful place.” The birds were settling in for the night. The sun setting. The shadows growing taller. “I should be satisfied, right? Sitting here with a goddamn cat for company. I never asked for a cat, ya know?”</p><p>The cat still didn’t respond.</p><p>“Sorry. It’s just...I feel like I’ve been alone my entire life.” Greg poured out the rest of the beer onto the ground. He had to work tomorrow and it seemed like drinking more beer wasn’t going to be the answer. He’d regret it in the morning. “Fuck. I’m just fucking tired of being alone.”</p><p>Before he went inside, he rubbed again at his chest, trying to soothe the grasping sensation within. He knew he’d latched onto the idea of Mycroft too quickly, and it surprised him. He didn’t know him from Adam. Something about him that made Greg hungry, like he’d been numbed to his appetite for all this time and the meeting tore past the fog and opened him up, making him aware that he’d been famished. Starving.</p><p>Lonely. Which reminded him of the last lines in his favorite bit of poetry: <em>Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - over and over announcing your place in the family of things.</em></p><p>Scratch stared at him with baleful eyes through the screen. Greg opened the door and the cat darted through the kitchen to the living room. He seemed to expect Greg’s presence on the couch for another night of snuggling and Netflix.</p><p>Greg exhaled. “Okay, cat. You, me, and <em> Schitt’s Creek</em>, right?”</p><p>Scratch meowed an affirmative. Greg picked up the remote, pushing the clouds of self-pity aside. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please go with what you're thinking, but if you're curious about my headcanons, if I were to cast whoever I wanted for Jo and Peri, it would probably be Keke Palmer and Amandla Stenberg. For Jack, I had Tom Hiddleston in mind. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Peepers and Pickerels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The yellow spotted salamander is unique among vertebrates in that it shares a life-long relationship with algae. It starts in the egg - the salamander embryo seems to inherit the algae from its parent. The egg provides a nitrogen rich environment for the algae, while the algae oxygenates the embryo. What’s more is that this algae isn’t floating around in the egg, it has entered the embryo itself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>This sort of cross-kingdoms mutualism is really only seen in invertebrates. As the salamander ages, the algae continues to live, though it is limited in photosynthesis and starts to engage in fermentation. What begins as a beautiful example of mutualism results in a limited symbiosis. There’s not much the salamander or the algae can do about it at this point.<br/></em>
</p><p>
  <em>But we humans? We can cut out the things that no longer serve us, even if at one point it was also beautiful. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Hey, tonight’s the big night, right?” Molly’s quiet voice rose from behind him. Greg had been bent over the water bowl of Diamond the snowy owl, scrubbing it clean with a long handled scrub brush. Molly watched him through the fencing, her fingers curled through the gaps.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“You know. FrogWatch. A certain tall, fair, and handsome.”</p><p>Greg wouldn’t admit that his heart skipped and his stomach bubbled with excitement as he rose to a stand. “I mean, that’s if he even comes. And if he’s even into dudes. Or even interested.”</p><p>“Oh please, Greg. Why wouldn’t he be interested in you? You’re like this rugged, handsome falconer dude. If you weren’t gay, I’d be all over you myself.”</p><p>Greg shook his head as he laughed and grabbed the hose off the ground. “Thanks. But, I’m not getting my hopes up. I’m just gonna do my job. That’s it.”</p><p>“Uh-huh. Okay. Well, don’t forget to wish everyone there ‘Happy Trails.’”</p><p>Greg splashed some of the water in her direction. Molly cackled as she jumped back and dashed away. </p><p>Greg grinned as he rinsed Diamond’s bowl with the hose, poured it out, then set it upright and refilled it.</p><p>“Oh yeah!” Molly’s voice was at his back again, and he jumped at the unexpected sound. “Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you.” </p><p>“Haha. What do you want now? Remember I've still got the hose.”</p><p>“I asked Sherlock about the ring thing. He said British people wear wedding rings on their left hands like we do.” Her face scrunched up. “Then he got weird. He froze up, and he let out this noise, like he was disgusted, and walked away like he was angry.”</p><p>“Uh, weird,” said Greg.</p><p>“Yeah.” The left corner of her lip pulled downward. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go check the perimeters on the deer exclosures.”</p><p>“I saw the far exclosure in the Milkweed Meadow yesterday. Looked good.”</p><p>“Good. I swear they test for weak spots on a nightly basis.” 'They' were the local population of white-tailed deer. The exclosures kept them out of certain parts of the forest and meadows so the plant life could recover from their overbrowsing. Not having enough natural predators, the deer population was out of control, and it caused a severe imbalance in the food web. </p><p>“Well, the storms we’ve had have been no great help.” Just last week they’d had a breach due to a fallen tree. </p><p>“Yeah. See ya later.” She turned and headed off.</p><p>“See ya.” Greg stared into the water of the bowl as if he were scrying, looking for answers to questions he didn’t know. When he looked up, Diamond the owl was peering at him with her one, ominous eye like a large yellow crystal ball.</p><p>Would Mycroft even attend? Would there be any reason to wash up well, fix his hair, make sure he was looking his best? And even if Mycroft did come, did Greg figure in any part of that equation, aside from being the friendly naturalist who told Mycroft about the event?</p><p>What if he brought family? </p><p>
  <em> Like a spouse. </em>
</p><p>Greg thought again of the ring, shining in the sunlight.</p><p>
  <em> Well, that’ll be that, and crush over. </em>
</p><p>Just like that. Crush over.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg lingered near the door, hoping he looked casual as he greeted visitors old and new. Tidbits of his conversations went like this:</p><p>“This woodpecker is driving me nuts. They've ruined my siding. I’m pretty sure there’s a nest!” </p><p>(Greg’s answer: “Woodpeckers are protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act. Get a Nuisance Wildlife Control Officer who can use an excluder <em> after </em> the chicks have fledged. Then get new siding. Do you have standing dead trees in your lot? They prefer to nest in those if the siding hasn’t been already damaged by insects.”)</p><p>“Look, Greg, this is the biggest one I’ve ever seen!” A cell phone in Greg’s face, the image of a bobcat walking across a lawn. “Should I be worried about my dogs?”</p><p>(Greg’s answer: “For most pets, you shouldn’t leave them unattended or outside of a protective run. Bobcats aren’t the only wildlife we’re sharing the area with, and coyotes and bears are more worrisome for pets.")</p><p>“So, I’ve got this Japanese barberry growing in a hedge, and I just read about that study linking lyme-infected ticks with this plant! What should I replace it with?”</p><p>(Molly interrupted for that one: “Oh, let me tell you about inkberry, or you might like shrubby St. John’s wort…”)</p><p>It wasn’t too large of a crowd, only about twenty-five adults and ten kids, but the barrage of comments, questions, and stories made Greg feel like he was standing among a hundred people who all required his attention. </p><p>Then, a certain ginger came into view.</p><p>Mycroft wore a fitted navy blazer with a white collared shirt and a smart-looking charcoal grey vest. His light grey chinos looked fitted as well, and his loafers were the color of caramel. A dark grey pocket square shot through with threads of bright blue completed the outfit. He got appreciative glances as he slid through the crowd like a fish through water.</p><p>Greg hoped his smile didn’t look too dopey as waved to Mycroft, who waved back. </p><p>“Excuse me," he said to someone who'd been complaining about hawks poaching birds at their birdfeeder. ("It's still a birdfeeder," he had said.) "I have someone I need to say hi to before we begin.”</p><p>Greg approached Mycroft with nervous energy thrumming below his skin like he was standing in the front row of a concert and the band was just about to walk out on stage. The equivalent there was a man who was likely out of his league. “You came! It’s so nice to see you again, Mycroft.”</p><p>“Likewise,” Mycroft extended his hand and Greg thrilled with the warmth of Mycroft’s skin against his own. His smile was genuine and his blue-grey eyes shone like twin lakes beneath a starry sky. Inside the path of that gaze, Greg felt possessed, like a moon pulled down and captured in the placid surface below.</p><p>He pushed himself from that flight of fancy. “So, can I offer you a refreshment? We have wine, a variety of flavored seltzers, and ice water.” </p><p>“A seltzer should be fine. Flavors?”</p><p>“Er, probably our usual. Lime, pomegranate, cherry, and orange. Plain, too. You know, only the finest at High Point.” Greg guided Mycroft toward the table beside the double doors that led to the High Point Nature Preserve auditorium. He held his hand over the small of the man’s back without actually touching, and swore heat built in the slender space between them. </p><p>“Indeed. I should like to try the pomegranate.”</p><p>“Excellent.” Greg grinned, lifting one of the compostable cups from the stack and adding ice before pouring the seltzer. “How are you finding your stay in Connecticut? I don’t believe you told me when you'd arrived.”</p><p>“I had been traversing the countryside for about three days before we met. Stopping in at charming farm stands, sampling cheeses and baked bread and loading up on vegetables I may forget to cook,” Mycroft replied. “I also did a wine sampling at a local winery.”</p><p>“Ah, man after my own heart. Glad you’re getting to see the sights.” Greg handed Mycroft his seltzer.</p><p>“Yes, so am I.” Mycroft’s gaze was steady on Greg as he took the seltzer, their fingers brushing against each other, and Greg couldn’t help but feel a little flushed under that gaze. <em> Oh my god! He’s gay! He’s gay! He’s gay, isn’t he? Was that a pass? Is he flirting? </em></p><p>Greg cleared his throat. “And you say family brought you to the area?” He began pouring a seltzer for himself.</p><p>“Yes. I have a brother that I check in on from time to time. Our mother originally hailed from Quebec, and we have family connections throughout New England and the Canadian province.”</p><p>“Really? I have some French-Canadian family, too. My grandfather is Thierry Lestrade, my grandmother was Annette Caron, and they lived outside Montreal until they relocated to Portland, Maine. My dad’s family is from the Boston area, though. Irish.” Greg and his brother inherited their mother’s name.  </p><p>“A Red Sox fan, then?”</p><p>“You follow baseball? I would have thought cricket,” Greg teased. He decided not to explain that his father had left when he was just an infant, and he’d never seen him since. </p><p>“Ha. I’m more of a football fan, myself. I believe the American rebels refer to it as ‘soccer.’” Mycroft winked.</p><p>“Hey, hey let’s be civilized, now. Proper football requires the use of your hands, for some reason.”</p><p>Mycroft laughed, and it rang in Greg’s ears like a glorious thing, like bells in the distance on a sunny day. </p><p>"Hey, why don't we head inside the auditorium. The program should begin any minute." They just got inside the room when Molly saw them. </p><p>“Hi Greg,” Molly ducked her head as she came to stand beside Greg. “Introduce me, will you?”</p><p>Greg wanted more time alone with Mycroft, but he capitulated with good grace. “Molly, this is Mycroft. Mycroft, this is Molly. She oversees the native plant propagation program, the pollinator gardens, and the removal of invasives on the property. She also teaches our botany classes and foraging. And a class on taxidermy.”</p><p>“Charmed.” Mycroft shook Molly’s hand. “A native plant propagation program?” </p><p>“Yes.” Her eyes lit up as Greg shook his head. <em> Here it comes</em>. “With biodiversity decreasing due to loss of habitat, we aim to cultivate more diversity via private backyards. Instead of planting nonnative ornamentals that provide little food for local pollinators and birds, we encourage people to plant natives to support the local ecosystem. By increasing the food web in our backyards, we can affect a direct impact on wildlife populations and help to mitigate climate change.”</p><p>“Fascinating." And he seemed genuine. "I will have to learn more some time.” </p><p>“I’d be delighted to have you back and show you our setup.” Molly grinned. “I don’t know if you can tell, but it’s kind of a passion of mine.” She giggled as she tucked some hair behind her ear. </p><p>“Really? I didn’t have the foggiest,” Mycroft drawled, and Molly snorted.</p><p>
  <em> Is he flirting with her?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jesus Christ, Greg, get a grip. He’s just being polite.</em>
</p><p>"Don't you mean the froggiest?" Greg said just to snatch their attention, and quickly wished he hadn't. <em>Now is not the time for dad jokes.</em> He grinned anyway, hoping they'd just roll with it. Mycroft was smirking, and that made him feel a little less foolish - but only a little. </p><p>Molly palmed her face. "Ignore him, please. It's just the seltzer talking. Makes him a little too effervescent. He'll need to be popped later."</p><p>Mycroft laughed as Greg's face blazed, but he kept that smile on. </p><p>Molly snickered. “Honestly, most people prefer talking to Greg about what he does, though. I mean, he just looks awesome sitting up there with this big bird of prey on his arm. You should see him with Valor, our eagle. People get so impressed. Not to mention he’s so damn good look-”</p><p>“Wow, thanks Molly!” Greg clutched her arm. </p><p>Mycroft watched them, a glitter in his eyes. “Oh, I think I can imagine.” And his voice reminded Greg of a purr. It suggested sex and late nights and bourbon and rough growls of pleasure.  </p><p>Greg let go of Molly’s arm and hid any kind of reply with a sip of seltzer. The music stopped and the loudspeaker crackled as Henric turned on the podium mic. He’d never been so thankful for an interruption in recent memory. </p><p>
  <em> Goddamn, I am so out of practice. </em>
</p><p>“Greetings, everyone!” Henric boomed, his face aglow with excitement. “Now comes a very special part of the evening, wherein we review the musical sounds of our local amphibians. Please, have a seat and our program will begin.”</p><p>Greg led the way as Mycroft and Molly followed, sliding into chairs in the back row with Greg in the middle. The room was large enough to seat almost a hundred people, though their group was small tonight. Large photographs of natural scenes and wild animals adorned the walls, but Greg couldn't pay attention to them now. He usually liked to look at each of them at least once when he was in the room for that little sense of serenity they gave him.</p><p>Instead, he was sharply aware of Mycroft’s proximity. A small whiff of cologne reached his nose as they sat, nothing overbearing, just pleasant - until it triggered a strong impulse in Greg, making him wish he could gather the man up in his arms so he could inhale him and bury his face in -</p><p>Henric started up a powerpoint at the front of the room. Greg shoved the lustful thoughts from his head and focused. </p><p>A lot of chuckles could be heard as the videos played. Pickerel frogs snored, gray tree frogs trilled, wood frogs quacked, and green frogs made a sound similar to the pluck of a banjo. American toads screamed.</p><p>After the videos played and Henric wrapped up his talk, Mycroft leaned over to Greg. “Well, I’m not sure I was entirely aware of the sexual nature of this event.”</p><p>“Are you uncomfortable with aquatic sex?” Greg flashed him a smile while cringing inwardly at his words. </p><p>“Only when I’m to play the voyeur.” Mycroft’s voice sank into a lower octave.</p><p>Greg blushed. Molly cleared her throat, which made him redden further. She hopped up. “C’mon, let’s beat the crowd,” she said. Greg thought about grabbing a pamphlet from someone just so he could fan himself, or pretend to read it until he could get his facial expressions under control. </p><p>They walked out of the auditorium doors to the outside and headed toward the trails that twisted around the vernal pools. The moon was high and bright, and though the air was cool, it was pleasant as the fresh scent of the woods washed over them. As they approached, spring peepers could be heard first, their shrill voices creating a high-pitched, frenetic orchestra that rang through the woodlands.</p><p>“Good Lord, is a tiny little frog really capable of producing so much noise?” Mycroft said.</p><p>“Yep. Tiny frog, great set of pipes.”</p><p>“I’m afraid that beyond 'ribbit,' I never knew there could be such variety in frog calls. Mine eyes have been opened.” </p><p>“It’s a privilege to have been the one to help enlighten you,” Greg said.</p><p>“My thanks.” Greg could hear a smile in Mycroft’s voice. </p><p>They were getting into the thick of it, their feet padding along the boardwalk that protected the sensitive wetland from their feet. The peeping chorus was intense, hundreds of the little amphibians calling frantically in a bid to attract a mate. It was like standing back in a concert hall: the crowd, the music, and the noise moving through you and filling your ears so much that you’d still feel it the next day. </p><p>“This is...tremendous,” Mycroft mused in a raised voice.</p><p>“Yeah, they get pretty loud.”</p><p>“I can hear the pickerels, Greg,” Molly said.</p><p>“How can anyone hear anything other than the incessant peeping?”</p><p>“Just...think about listening below the peeping," Greg said. "You remember that the pickerels snore, right? Just listen for that sound.”</p><p>Mycroft paused, his head tilted to one side. After a moment, he said, “Oh! I hear them.”</p><p>“Peepers and pickerels, it’s truly April and love is in the air,” Molly said.</p><p>“I still can’t believe I’m standing out here listening to what amounts to an amphibious orgy.”</p><p>“Hey, that’s spring for you. Birds sing to attract some tail while plants are flashing their genitalia at us, and we just walk along, enjoying it, not always thinking about how sex is all around us,” Greg said without thinking. <em> Oh. Well. Just roll with it. </em>He wished he could see Mycroft’s face, but he found he laughed at himself, anyway. Mycroft’s silhouette in the moonlight seemed relaxed. </p><p>“So, we just sit here, decide whether the number of frogs around us is a level 1, 2, or 3, and then write that down, along with the date and time, and send it in,” he said.</p><p>“That’s it. Not exact numbers, but it builds a pattern, and that’s what scientists are looking for,” Molly said. </p><p>“This is wonderful. Thank you for having invited me. I never would have seen myself out here and I’m finding myself delighted.” </p><p>Greg’s toes curled at the warmth in the other man’s voice.</p><p>“Oh, I hear Henric’s group coming. I’m going to go join them. See you later, Greg. It was super nice meeting you, Mycroft. Please do come by and we can talk native plants sometime.” Molly started backing away.</p><p>“It was a pleasure, Molly. I will gladly come calling.”</p><p>“Great.” She tossed two thumbs in the air to Greg, which he could just make out in the shadows. He rolled his eyes, wondering if all the innuendo of the night might have been just a tad too much, but Mycroft seemed to be enjoying himself.</p><p>“Do you work Monday through Friday here?”</p><p>“Yeah, and some weekends or evenings,” Greg said. </p><p>“Oh, I wonder -” then Mycroft paused, and Greg could see in the darkness that he was reaching inside his coat. A flash of light from a cell phone appeared and Greg watched as the other man’s face was lit up in the cool blue light of the phone. “My apologies, I need to take this phone call. I should probably find someplace quieter.”</p><p>“Sure. I’ll take you back.” Greg led the way over the boardwalk, passing Henric’s group as they went. He could hear snatches of Mycroft’s voice as he said things like “Please hold, I’m in the middle of the woods,” and “-New England wildlife -” and “frogs, it’s all frog noise!”</p><p>Out of the woodland edge and away from the racket of amphibians, Mycroft thanked Greg and walked several feet away.</p><p><em> Awkward. Okay. </em> Greg shifted from one foot to the other and then wandered closer to the doors of the building where one yellow lamplight glowed. The doors opened. Sammy poked his head out. “Oh. Hey. Can you help me with the speakers? Henric has some new place for them in storage, and it’s kind of a pain.”</p><p>“Uh, sure.” Greg turned back to Mycroft. He was still talking on the phone.</p><p>
  <em> What do I do?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Okay, he’s busy. And what am I doing anyway? I’m supposed to be working. </em>
</p><p>Greg followed Sammy through the doors. It took about ten minutes for the two of them to carry the speakers and the rest of the equipment to the supply closet. Greg wanted to shove things into place and run back to find Mycroft - <em> what if he thinks I’ve deserted him </em> - but he was trying to act casual in front of Sammy. Sammy might pick up on Greg’s impatience and start inquiring as to why. It’d been a long time since Jack, and they’d talked it over and agreed everything was cool, but Greg couldn’t help the old sticky feelings that moved through his gut when he thought of introducing Sammy to a new interest of his.</p><p>When it was finally all said and done, they could hear the party returning. People chattered and laughed, and on occasion they could hear the boom of Henric’s voice over the others. Greg opened the doors and looked around for Mycroft. The group milled inside the room as Henric talked about different frog mating habits. </p><p>He didn’t see Mycroft.</p><p>“Hey,” Molly said from beside him. </p><p>“Hi. Uh, was Mycroft out there with you?”</p><p>“No.” Her nose wrinkled as she looked around. “He’s not in here with you?”</p><p>“No, he had to take a phone call.”</p><p>“Oh. Maybe he’s just outside then.”</p><p>Greg saw that Henric was busy with folks, and Sammy stood by the doors looking bored. He affected an air of ambivalence, and strolled through the doors, giving a nod to Sammy as he passed.</p><p>Outside, he walked quickly around the corner of the building toward the parking lot. He could see some of the guests for the program getting into their cars. No long-legged shape that looked like his Brit.</p><p>
  <em> Maybe the bathrooms? </em>
</p><p>He ducked back inside, ignored Sammy as he passed and headed for the mens room. </p><p>He opened the door and glanced around. No one was at the urinals and the stall doors were open. He turned around and saw Molly in the hallway.</p><p>She lifted her eyebrows in question.</p><p>“I think he left,” he said, the bathroom door shutting behind him.</p><p>She frowned. “Without saying bye?”</p><p>“He got a phone call.” As if that explained anything.</p><p>“O-kay.”</p><p>Greg threw his hands up. “What am I even doing? We’re still not sure if he’s gay, and he’s wearing a ring. I don’t know why I’m even running myself around like this. This is insane. I’m insane.”</p><p>“Sanity aside, if you’re worried he’s married, why don’t you ask him?”</p><p>Greg chewed his lower lip. “Well, I guess it’s because I’m hoping he isn’t.”</p><p>A look of sympathy crossed Molly’s face.</p><p>“I know. I know. I should just ask. I’m an idiot.”</p><p>“You’re not an idiot, Greg.” She punched him in the arm, softly. “C’mon. Maybe he just stepped out for a moment. Let’s go back and help Henric usher out the last of these people.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>It was about another twenty minutes when the last guest left. Henric thanked them for helping out and the staff parted for their cars. </p><p>Three cars, four staffpersons. Greg'd planned on walking home on the trails. No one else to be seen.</p><p>“Did you get a number or an email, at least?” Molly asked.</p><p>Greg shook his head.</p><p>“Oh. Hm. Well, maybe he’ll stop by. I think he likes it here. And I can see that he likes you.”</p><p>“Yeah, maybe,” Greg said. <em> Cheer the fuck up. It’s just one guy. Jesus. </em> “Thanks, Molls. I’m getting too old for this sort of stuff, I think.”</p><p>“Please, you're only a few years older than me,” she said. “See ya tomorrow.”</p><p>“Yeah, see ya.” He forced a smile.</p><p>When he slid into his car and slammed the door shut, all he could think was that the echo of the slam inside his car matched the echo inside him - empty and alone. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Deer overbrowse is changing the look of northeastern forest. Deer won't eat the invasive plants, and they won't eat American Beech - but the natural understory that is filled with herbaceous plants, shrubs, and baby trees? They will nom those plants to the ground if given the chance. Deer exclosures are one way to prevent them from decimating the seedbank. Hunting is another. Introducing natural predators yet another. Deer are just one example of what we term an "enhanced species" - or a species that has benefited from human activity.</p><p>The Japanese barberry study is real! You can learn more about it <a href="https://today.uconn.edu/2012/02/controlling-japanese-barberry-helps-stop-spread-of-tick-borne-diseases/">here</a>.</p><p>Now for the fun stuff:<br/>Want to know what peepers sound like? Check out <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q_L7Ha6uwQA">this video</a>! Pickerels? <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RvamqQXtzO8">Here</a>. (You'll also hear peepers in this one.) </p><p>And here’s some other funny ones: Wood frogs <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oc6H7FLYObg">quack</a>, American toads <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eTwWyARI-k8">'scream'</a>, and green frogs sound like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDLkhgyOt88">the pluck of a banjo</a>. </p><p>My favorite is the gray tree frog: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bzotS1ow0Q&amp;t=36s">they trill</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Mouth of Bees</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>In the United States, there are 575 species of butterflies, and 4,000 species of bees. A common instruction among gardeners is to save your pesticide application for night-time to avoid impacting pollinators.</em> <em>There are 11,000 species of moths in the lower 48 states. Most of them are pollinators. And most of those are nocturnal.</em> </p><p>
  <em>There are also pollinating ants and wasps, flies and birds, beetles and bats. General concern centers on diurnal species - the ones we see awake in the light of day. But those who lurk in the dark, who flit toward the stars or unheeding into a halogen bulb, those who creep between the shadows of petals, these do not garner our concern because we have made them ‘other.’</em>
</p><p><em>Perhaps it’s because many species of moth are not as striking as their daytime counterparts. Perhaps it’s the nature of “out of sight, out of mind.” Perhaps it’s the part of ourselves that prefers to prize those who are more like us over those who are less like us. </em> <em>Or perhaps it’s because the dark reminds us of places we can’t face within ourselves.<br/><br/></em></p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg placed the raccoon skull on the shelf beside the skull of the skunk. He double checked the labels. Yellowed teeth of different shapes and sizes grinned at him. Fanged carnivores on one shelf, flat-toothed herbivores on the shelf below it.  </p><p>“How’s it going?” Molly asked. They stood in the front lobby. A light spring rain sprinkled drops on the windows.</p><p>“All right,” Greg said with forced cheer. “Just waiting for Peri and Jo.”</p><p>“Oh, jeez, it’s Friday.” She scratched the back of her head. “I can never keep track of the days anymore. Tonight’s Sherlock’s talk, isn’t it?” She said it casually, but Greg knew Molly would never miss one of Sherlock’s lectures, whether or not she was into apiology. </p><p>“Yeah. I’m staying for the beginning, but then I’m taking Peri out to dinner.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s nice!” she said.</p><p>“Yeah. It is.” He gave a brief smile and turned his attention back to the shelves.</p><p>“Hey, you okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. You know, I think I’m just getting maudlin. Maybe I’m approaching a midlife crisis or something.” Greg huffed a laugh, though it required more effort than it should have. “Don’t mind me.”</p><p>“Aren’t you just like forty-one?”</p><p>“Forty, thank you.” Jesus.</p><p>“Okay, but you’re turning forty-one this year, right? So, are you expecting to live only until eighty-two?” </p><p>That pulled a smirk from his lips. “We’ll see, won’t we?”</p><p>“Excellent attitude.” A pause. “This little rain cloud you’re under isn’t just because of a certain tall British guy, is it?”</p><p>“I just…” He heaved a sigh. “I’ve been alone for a while. Back when Jack and I started, I thought…”</p><p>“I know. But, remember, he wasn’t always that good for you, even before all the super shady shit. He was controlling and manipulative -”</p><p>“I got it. Yeah. I was pathetic. Thank you for reminding me.”</p><p>“No. I’m pretty sure Jack’s just a sociopath and he promised you everything you wanted, and you loved him. Or at least, the him he presented to you.”</p><p>“Yeah.” He tugged on his sleeve to cover his wrist, the phantom sense of Jack’s grip still existent on his skin. “Five years with that fuck.”</p><p>“Yeah. He got you good. But it’s been like two years, hasn’t it?”</p><p>Greg sucked his teeth. “Yeah.”</p><p>“And have you been on any dates?”</p><p>Greg thought back to the couple of hand jobs he’d had at clubs on Cape Cod when he’d visited Damien. “Nope.”</p><p>“Is it still bad?”</p><p>“I haven’t been to Triangles in a year. Partners is a bit far to drive to, but I sometimes run into people there. You know that.”</p><p>“People still think you did it?”</p><p>“Drama. These guys love it.” They had. The rumors Jack and his friends started spread like hot grease in a frying pan. Every time Greg had tried to go to one of the clubs, it started with whispers and dark looks, followed by catty call-outs and belligerent confrontations. </p><p>“That’s insane. I can’t believe…” He turned to face her and Molly cut her eyes away. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”</p><p>“It might be better now. I just...haven’t tried it in the past year, really. I was never big into the club scene, anyway.”</p><p>“Yeah.” She folded her arms across her chest. </p><p>“Enough about me. How about you?”</p><p>“Eh.” She lifted one shoulder. “Been on some dates. Nothing you don’t know about already.”</p><p>“Did you ever get a second date with that Antonio guy?”</p><p>“Mm, no.” She shook her head as her nose scrunched up with distaste. “There was something about him that seemed...off.”</p><p>“They’re always off. Will no one reach your standards?” Greg teased.</p><p>Molly blushed as her eyes drifted in the direction of the nature center’s beehives.</p><p>“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re still crushing on him.”</p><p>“I know it’s pathetic,” she said. “He’s just so...so...”</p><p>“Molly.”</p><p>“I know. I know. It’s ridiculous.”</p><p>The silence stretched between them.</p><p>“Wow, we are just two peas in a pod, aren’t we?” he said in a gentle voice.</p><p>“Sure are.” </p><p>He blew air through his lips. “But, seriously. Sherlock?”</p><p>“Shut up,” she said as she snorted with a short, nervous little giggle. “He’s not that terrible.”</p><p>“You have to admit he’s a strange one.”</p><p>“Fine. But aren’t we all a little strange?”</p><p>“Molly.” He gave her a pointed look.</p><p>“Shut up.” She waved him off, smiling.</p><p>He turned and closed the glass doors to the display.</p><p>“Oh, don’t look now, but he’s here,” Molly's soft footsteps on the carpet headed back toward the front desk.</p><p>Greg turned, expecting to see Sherlock. </p><p>Instead, it was Mycroft, striding through the front entrance. Greg snapped back to the display case, pretending it required all of his attention. In fact, he was trying to slow the beating of his heart and hide his wide grin.</p><p>That musical, accented voice addressed the front desk. “Ah, Molly. Very good to see you. Is Greg in?”</p><p>“Hi, Mycroft! Greg is right over there.”</p><p>Greg turned, his eyes meeting Mycroft’s, and then catching movement at the front door as Peri strolled in. Her eyes landed on him and she beelined in his direction. “Hey, dad.” Jo was right behind her.</p><p>Greg stalled like a car with a faulty fuel pump. “Oh, hi, Peri. How was school?”</p><p>A frown crossed her features. “Fine, as always. Now ask me about something else.”</p><p>“Sorry, kiddo.” He grinned at her and avoided looking at Mycroft.</p><p>“Dad.”</p><p>“Oops, sorry. Old habits. Peri.”</p><p>She smiled at him and then tossed a “hey, Molly” at the front desk. Molly waved back and to Jo as she came up behind Peri. </p><p>Jo smiled as she handed Greg Peri’s overnight bag. “Hey, handsome.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “How’s it going?”</p><p>“It goes,” he said, and glanced at Mycroft, who had his back turned to their happy family scene, seemingly engrossed in another display shelf of different bird nests. “How was your day?” <em>Was Mycroft watching them in the reflection on the glass?</em></p><p>“Work was all right. Did you get my text about the hawk?” Jordana worked at a local vet’s office as a technician. When they received injured birds who ended up labeled as nonreleaseable, Greg would help them find a permanent home, if not at High Point Nature Center, then somewhere in their network of organizations with similar missions.</p><p>“Yeah, sorry I didn’t respond. I’ve been kinda running everywhere today.” <em>Pining like some loser, actually</em>. He glanced again at Mycroft. Still his back toward them. “So, wrist injury, huh?”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s really too bad. She’s gorgeous.”</p><p>“Huh. And Tim doesn’t think she’ll be a candidate for release?” Tim was the veterinarian. High Point used him for their resident animals. </p><p>“Too severe, he says. Might have to amputate.”</p><p>“All right, then. I’ll see what I can do.”</p><p>“Great,” she smiled at him. There was a questioning look in her eye, though, like she’d caught on that he seemed distracted. “I’ll see you later. Peri, come give your mom a kiss and a hug.”</p><p>Peregrine groaned, but she did as requested. “Bye, mom.”</p><p>“See you later, honey.” She squeezed Peri on the shoulder and waved to Molly on her way out, miming at her to text her.</p><p>“Is Sammy here?” Peri asked. Greg hated it, but Peri and Sammy had become friends over the years. It wasn’t like he would tell her about how Sammy had slept with his ex-boyfriend when they weren’t yet exes.</p><p>“Yeah, I think he’s out back.”</p><p>“‘Kay. See ya!” She strode toward the hallway that led to the back entrance. </p><p>He watched her go, wondering what Mycroft was thinking, wondering how much he would have to explain. What need was there to explain anything? He didn’t owe Mycroft anything. But he hadn’t mentioned a daughter, and he was hoping to turn this into...something.  </p><p>He noticed Mycroft beside him. “Hello, Greg.” His smile was pleasant, small. Tight, perhaps. He nodded in the direction where Peri had gone. “That was your daughter.”</p><p>“Yeah. Peregrine.” Greg shouldered her overnight bag, his gut a tight ball of nerves.</p><p>Mycroft rocked on the balls of his feet. “Of course. A lovely name.”</p><p>“Yeah, uh, her mother and I share a love for the bird.” <em>How does one bring up casually that we aren’t together?</em> “It’s my -”</p><p>“Good Lord!” Sherlock Holmes’ booming baritone filled the lobby. “Why must you stalk me here as well?”</p><p>Greg looked to Sherlock, whose narrowed, viperous gaze speared Mycroft. Molly stood behind the front desk, her eyebrows raised in surprise.</p><p>“You weren’t satisfied with your little spies and your incessant texting and calling? Did Mrs. Hudson finally tell you to shove off? And must you -”</p><p>“Sherlock Holmes,” Mycroft interrupted with an impressive thundering of his voice. “Cease and desist. I am here on an extended business trip, and it delighted me to find out that you would give a talk here tonight. I thought I’d also come early and say hello to Greg, who was kind enough to give me a tour here the other day. Not everything I do involves you.”</p><p>“Holy fucking christ,” Greg said.</p><p>Everyone’s gazes swiveled to him.</p><p>“Sorry. Er, you’re brothers, aren’t you?” Greg’s cheeks pinked. “You said you were visiting family in the area.”</p><p>“Yes. Sherlock is my younger brother.” Mycroft clasped his hands behind his back. “My apologies for his outburst.”</p><p>Sherlock’s face screwed into one of utter annoyance. “How dare you -”</p><p>The front doors opened, an elderly couple walking in with soft smiles on their faces as they glanced around the lobby.</p><p>“Hi! Welcome!” Molly greeted them with added exuberance.</p><p>“Wow. I never got your last name,” Greg said to Mycroft, hoping Sherlock would take a hint and walk away.</p><p>“Yes. I am Mycroft Holmes.” He raised one eyebrow as if in amusement. </p><p>“Oh, my god. Molly will never let me live this down,” Greg laughed to himself.</p><p>Mycroft tilted his head in question.</p><p>“I, uh, well, after introducing you to Molly the other day, she wondered if Sherlock might know you.” He grinned sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders.</p><p>“Yes, yes, yes, I have the great misfortune of knowing this pompous fatarse, more than anyone should like. Lucky me.” Sherlock glared at Mycroft. “When do you go home?”</p><p>“I’m on a partial sabbatical.” Mycroft seemed a little smug.</p><p>Several lines appeared on Sherlock’s brow and across his nose. “<em>Sabbatical</em>? Have you finally gone ‘round the bend?”</p><p>“I haven’t taken a personal vacation in many years, Sherlock. As you are aware.”</p><p>“Ugh. I can’t even cross an ocean without your fetid stench following me -”</p><p>“Sherlock,” Greg hissed so the couple at the front desk wouldn’t hear him. “Go prepare for your program. This isn’t the place.”</p><p>“Ugh.” Sherlock groaned and threw his hands up. He stalked past them and through the double doors into the auditorium. </p><p>Mycroft watched him go, and once he was out of earshot, said, “He really was a lovely boy when he was young.”</p><p>“Jesus, what happened?”</p><p>Mycroft gave him a half-smile and shrugged. “Life is full of disappointments.” It looked as if he remembered something unpleasant, some shadow of a memory that crossed his face. </p><p>“Lestrade! Where did Henric hide the speakers?” Sherlock shouted from within the auditorium.</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Greg swore as he looked up at the ceiling. “Please excuse me, he will need my help for the setup.”</p><p>“Please, don’t let me distract you from your duty.” Mycroft’s features were pleasant once again. “Perhaps we shall speak later.”</p><p>“I’d like that,” Greg said, and bounded down the stairs, thinking about taking Sherlock with both hands and shaking him. Very. Hard.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The crowd was a mix of smiling pensioners and enthusiastic youth. Sherlock gave a lecture on the installation and early care of beehives, followed by a garden design plan to benefit both honeybees and native bees throughout the warmer seasons. Eager novices and experienced keepers alike were in attendance.</p><p>Greg could hardly care though. Not when a certain Mycroft Holmes - holy fuck, <em>Holmes</em> - lingered near the back, much to Sherlock’s annoyance. </p><p>“Dad, can we go?” Peregrine appeared at his shoulder.</p><p>“Oh, Sammy not entertaining you anymore?” he asked.</p><p>She snapped a look in his direction. “He left. I thought we were going to dinner.”</p><p>Greg glanced at Mycroft again. It surprised him to see steel-blue eyes looking back at him. Greg smiled, his heartbeat increasing. “Fine, but I left your bag in my office. Why don’t you go get it?”</p><p>“Okay.” She turned on her heel and left.</p><p>Greg went through the door, but not before tossing a look over his shoulder to see if Mycroft was watching.</p><p>He wasn’t.</p><p>
  <em>Jesus Christ. When did you get so pathetic?</em>
</p><p>When Greg was in his teens and twenties, he could have his pick with just a smile. While anonymous hookups weren’t quite his thing, he got his dick wet often enough to gain a reputation. It was easy pickings. </p><p>Then came Peregrine. For the first few years, she was his world. He had to be safer with his behavior. His weekends with her were exhausting and he spent most evenings at Jo’s to help. Not that he never got to party - he still went to the Cape to visit Damien every year and got off with some near anonymous hookup. But even then, getting off with a random stranger didn’t have the appeal it once did.</p><p>And when Peregrine was eight, and he was more settled as a dad with joint custody, he met Jack. Jack was cool, fun, flirty, and he hit all the right buttons for Greg. He wanted Greg from the moment they met, and he outright courted him with flowers and dinner dates before they even ended up in bed together. Jack was a bit of a drama queen, and he was possessive and he preferred Greg to look a certain way, but Jack filled a hole in Greg’s life that he didn’t even know existed. </p><p>Fuck. And after that?</p><p>Greg was just a sad sack with no confidence. He could barely muster up the skill to say much more than hello and talk about his job with a potential guy. </p><p>“Greg?”</p><p>It startled Greg out of his thoughts. </p><p>“Oh, hey there.” He flashed the man a grin, suddenly pleased by Mycroft having sought him out. <em>Maybe I have a chance.</em></p><p>“I know this may seem like a strange request, but I promise I am merely concerned for the wellbeing of my brother.”</p><p>Greg tilted his head. </p><p>“Sherlock left England after a...public ordeal. I was concerned for him, though I trust Mrs. Hudson looks after him quite well. But he can be...difficult.” Mycroft pulled at his collar. “I only wish to know if his work here is of value to your center, and if you see him continuing in a long-term role here.”</p><p>“Uh, well, yeah. He helps Molly with her research, and he tends to the hives and the gardens here. I know he’s working on publishing a paper about the pollination habits of honeybees versus native bees, and that’ll be good for our rep in the field -”</p><p>“And his...behavior, or his attitude toward his colleagues?”</p><p>“Well. He can be touchy and moody, and sometimes he’s a bit of an ass.” Greg winced, but he preferred to give honesty. “I like him and so does most of the staff. He’s interesting. He just doesn’t suffer fools. I think he brings more value to this place than he detracts from it. I’ve met no one so brilliant.”</p><p>“Hm.” The corners of Mycroft’s mouth twitched. “Does he get along well enough with everyone?”</p><p>“Well, not with Sammy.” Not that Greg was doing well with Sammy in recent years, but that was separate from Sherlock. “From day one those two were like oil and water. Molly likes him - probably too much.” <em>Oops, over-share</em>. “And Henric gets along with everyone. The other staff don't work with him very often.”</p><p>Mycroft gazed over his shoulder. “Mm. So, it seems he has found himself a place here.”</p><p>“Yeah. We wouldn’t have hired him otherwise. Molly was very impressed with his doctoral work.”</p><p>“That is excellent to hear.” Mycroft smiled as his eyes traveled back to Greg's. “I do apologize if I seem intrusive.”</p><p>“Uh. I mean, it’s a little odd, but that’s what family does? Right?”</p><p>“Family does…?”</p><p>“Family worries. Real family, I mean.” <em>Not my Maine family, maybe. But I’ve seen it happen in other families, and with Jo and Peri.</em></p><p>“Yes. Thank you.” Mycroft smiled again. “You have been remarkably kind.”</p><p>“It’s easy. You seem like a good guy.”</p><p>Mycroft’s smile widened, but the lines around his eyes seemed tight. “Are you off?”</p><p>“Taking my daughter out to dinner.” Greg could hear Peregrine’s footsteps coming down from the stairs that led to the offices. “Speaking of which, she approaches.”</p><p>“Perhaps I shall see you again.”</p><p>“Uh, yeah, that would be great. Are you coming to our Earth Day festival?”</p><p>“That’s Sunday, yes?”</p><p>“Yeah. It’s mostly for families with small kids, but there are some things adults enjoy, and I’ll be doing a falconry demonstration.”</p><p>“Will you? That sounds wonderful. Perhaps I shall find the time.” </p><p>Greg grinned. “Great. Hope to see you Sunday.”</p><p>Mycroft bobbed his chin once. “Goodnight, Greg.”</p><p>“Night, Mycroft.” Greg turned to see Peri watching him, a shrewd look upon her round face. “Ready to go?”</p><p>“Yeah.” She eyed Mycroft and then turned for the doors.</p><p>Greg waved, and Mycroft walked back inside the auditorium. </p><p>When Greg got outside, Peri looked at him. “Were you flirting with that guy?”</p><p>“I may have invited him to Earth Day, yes. But flirting? Not right then.” <em>Jesus, Lestrade, even your daughter is picking up on it. Rein it in.</em></p><p>“Uh-huh,” she said and grinned, reminding him that sometimes, she looked just like him despite her darker skin and hair. “I’m not sure he’s good enough for you.”</p><p>“I’m so glad you’re here to defend my honor,” he said as he placed his hand over his heart.</p><p>She laughed. “Let’s get pizza.”</p><p>“Pizza it is.” He took her bag for her and led the way to his car, heart aglow. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Is it wrong that I’m glad she left?” Mycroft’s voice was by his ear.</p><p>Greg turned, his nose brushing along Mycroft’s. Heat expanded in the sliver of air between them. A smile crept across his face. “And why is that?”</p><p>Warm lips pressed to his as hands lay on his arms, sliding around him, enfolding him in a loose but warm embrace. He brought his own hands up to Mycroft’s waist, encircling them beneath the man’s blazer. Greg’s blood flared as his heart jumped and his dick stirred, a molten pool of lava roiling low in his belly. </p><p>The kiss woke something in him, some longing that had been adrift. As they held each other tight, Greg’s tongue sought entrance to Mycroft’s mouth, pressing at the seam until Mycroft opened. Their tongues tangled together at once.</p><p>Mycroft hummed, and Greg answered with a light grunt. It was heady and wild and Greg’s heart and stomach were doing somersaults as the two men parted.</p><p>Mycroft looked at him with a serene smile and opened his mouth.</p><p>Bees. Bees fell from his mouth and flew into the air, buzzing past Greg’s ears. Greg ducked and fell backwards, straight into the swamp where thousands and thousands of tiny frogs hopped onto him with wet, sticky feet. </p><p>He awoke with a start. <em>What the fuck?</em> He rubbed his face with a hand and flopped back onto his pillow. His cock was hard despite the ludicrous ending to the dream. </p><p><em>Mmm. Mycroft.</em> He slid his hand beneath the covers. Without any kind of finesse or teasing, he pulled his cock quick and hard, snaking his other hand down to caress the skin of his balls. His orgasm was explosive, wetting his hand and underwear. He groaned, wiped his hand on his t-shirt and rolled over, sated. Clean up could happen in the morning.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Falconry Thing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to jae_blaze for reminding me what day of the week it is. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>They chose the American bald eagle as the emblem of the United States because of its majestic looks, long life, and great physical strength. They also sound like a seagull. Their call is more shrill shorebird than ferocious carnivore. When the bald eagle crosses the movie screen, the cry commonly used in tandem - that scraping, arching screech that seems as if it could have some genuine threat to it - is actually the cry of a red-tailed hawk. Another common gaff in movies? Barn owls don’t hoot. They hiss.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sometimes what we see results from smoke and mirrors. But you don't need me to tell you that.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I’ve seen you do the falconry thing,” Peri exhaled into her breakfast of eggs.</p><p>“I know, I know. I just thought you'd like to come today, is all. You used to love these festivals.” Greg glanced at his daughter as he stood over the stove, making another pan of eggs for himself. His cell phone vibrated. Upon looking, he saw that Damien had texted some stupid meme of a seagull and a joke about whales. He smirked. </p><p>“I was a kid, then. It was cool.”</p><p>The smirk slipped from his lips. “Hey now, adults like what I do, too, you know.” Greg stuck his tongue out at her. He grabbed his phone and sent Damien the emoji of a middle finger. </p><p>She rolled her eyes. “Real mature, dad. Who’re you texting?”</p><p>“Damien.” Greg grabbed one foot and stretched his quad. Saturday morning yoga was followed by a six-mile hike down in Devil’s Den. A typical day for the two of them. They used to talk about doing the Appalachian trail together, but Greg wondered if Peri still had any interest. Teens had to be their own person and all, but she grew less and less invested in doing things with him. She shut him out at times. And he had to admit that it hurt.</p><p>He released his foot and sighed, settling his shoulders back and staring out the kitchen window. The sun was still low in the sky, and the soft green of spring crowned the trees.</p><p>Damien sent him a laughing emoji.</p><p>“Dad?”</p><p>His shoulders sagged. “Okay. I’ll drop you off at your mom’s. Which means we’re leaving earlier.”</p><p>“I’m ready,” she said.</p><p>“Of course,” he muttered. “Just give me a minute.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It was only a ten-minute drive to the condo complex. Jordana lived in a first floor two-bedroom condo near the entrance. Azaleas bloomed in an ostentatious display of fuschia by the doorways. Every condo was alike in terms of number of windows and the door placement, with light grey vinyl siding and white trim. Jo’s door had a grapevine wreath adorned with a fake bird’s nest and plastic yellow flowers. </p><p>Peri must have texted her because Jo opened the door as they approached. “Morning, all.” She opened it wider for them to step inside. “How was yesterday’s hike?”</p><p>“Devil’s Den is still cool. We saw wood ducks,” Peri said as she walked in. “Thanks, dad.” She gave him a hug that was so quick he didn’t even have time to return it before she headed down the hall toward her bedroom.</p><p>“Wow, a ringing endorsement,” Jo said. Her eyes met his with a questioning but bemused look. </p><p>“Yeah. I don’t know what I did to alienate her this weekend, but…” He dug the toe of his shoe into the beige wall-to-wall carpet.</p><p>“She’s fifteen. She started treating me like that when she was thirteen. It’s about time she directed some of it at you.” Jo crossed her arms, but she smiled as if to soften the blow.</p><p>“Does she have to do it at all?”</p><p>“Listen, we got a good kid. She’s polite without being a doormat, she gets good grades, she has interesting hobbies.” She shrugged one shoulder with a devil-may-care attitude. “Let’s count ourselves lucky for what we have, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, I know. You’re right,” he said.</p><p>The heavy tread of footsteps sounded nearby. Marcus, a tall black man with a handsome face and broad shoulders appeared around the corner. He grinned, all pearly teeth framed by a brand new black beard and goatee combo. “Hey, Greg. Thought I heard you.”</p><p>“Marcus, good to see you.” They shook hands. “Nice beard.”</p><p>“Thanks. I heard you have an Earth Day festival today. Peri didn’t want to go?” His voice was deep, throaty.</p><p>“Nah. She’s seen me ‘do the falconry thing.’ Her words.”</p><p>Marcus laughed, loud and belly-deep. “Well, we’ll see what we can do about entertaining her today.” He slipped an arm around Jo’s waist. </p><p>“Thanks. Well, I should be going.” He was never sure if Marcus liked him. His smile was always a little too wide, and he touched Jo as often as possible in Greg’s presence. They’d dealt with this before, when one of Jo’s ex-boyfriends had accused Greg of trying to come between them. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when Peri was ill - Greg interrupted their date when he called Jo to let her know he was headed to the hospital with their daughter. That guy didn’t last long. Marcus never behaved outrageously in a way to suggest he was jealous or threatened, but the slight possessiveness and the mega smile had always tugged at Greg in a way that was unpleasant. </p><p>Jo broke away from Marcus to hug Greg and give him a peck on the cheek. “Text me later?”</p><p>“You bet,” he said. He nodded at Marcus, whose plastered smile now reminded him of a kid’s creepy toy. <em>Which might be taking it a little far.</em> The guy made Jo happy. He liked to shoot hoops and watch football on the weekends, which didn’t interest Greg, but when they’d have family dinners, he and Marcus usually found common ground in movies and politics. </p><p>He shrugged it off and headed for the car. No use thinking about it now. Jo was getting serious with him, and Greg wasn’t a threat. Maybe Marcus would settle down about it, eventually. </p><p><em> What Jo and I have is special. </em>And no one would come between that. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Artemis soared through the air, her silhouette against the sky an inspiring demonstration in aerodynamics. She flew down at an angle and alighted on his glove, eager for her treat of a mouse. The crowd cheered and clapped. </p><p>They stood on the edge of a white pine grove in view of the High Point Nature Preserve building. Tents dotted the adjacent field. Kids emerged from the crafts tent with handmade “leaf critters,” and painted faces. Another tent provided an up close experience with a freshwater touch tank full of tadpoles, water scorpions, dragonfly nymphs, a painted turtle, frogs, aquatic newts, and predaceous diving beetles. Vendors sold organic products, upcycled jewelry, native plants, and reusable household goods. Food trucks lined the grass by the parking lot, and a local band jammed on a small, makeshift stage in the center of it all. </p><p>Above the families milling everywhere, the sky was cloudless and bright with the sun. A wonderfully beautiful and successful day. </p><p>Greg hoped to see one face in particular; the fair, lightly freckled face of one Mycroft Holmes. </p><p><em> Jesus Christ. </em> Greg chided himself for about the fourth time that day for thinking of the guy. He grinned at the crowd and didn’t miss the appreciative glances from many of the women. </p><p>Artemis chirped in his ear and he smiled at her, her sharp eyes on his, clearly eager for another treat. She touched her beak to his chin, which, in the language of raptors, expressed affection. His heart warmed.</p><p>The crowd “awww”ed. He smiled sheepishly and waved. After giving her another treat and waiting for her to swallow, he placed the hood over her eyes. Sammy was up next with Valor, the American bald eagle. They passed each other with encouraging smiles, and Greg placed Artemis on the perch inside her carrier as soon as he reached it. They’d kept the birds in carriers beneath a tent with a <em>Staff Only</em> sign posted outside.</p><p>Greg sighed as he fastened the lock on the carrier.</p><p>“I must admit, I’d never given much thought to falconry until now,” a beautiful voice with a British accent sounded behind him. Greg’s heart jumped. He looked over his shoulder. Mycroft stood there, the red of his hair highlighted by the sun, looking at ease in his light green jacket and well-fitted trousers. </p><p>Greg bit his lower lip as his heart thudded. He turned around with a grin on his face. “Hey there, glad to see you made it.”</p><p>Mycroft glanced around them. “It is a delightful festival. I happened to walk by Sherlock’s beehive tent. It surprised me to see him with so many children.”</p><p>“Sherlock’s better with kids than he is with adults.” <em> Oops. Insert foot in mouth. </em> </p><p>“Quite. I can see how their curiosity and lack of preconceived notions might appeal to my brother.” Mycroft’s eyes seemed to light up with amusement. “It’s gratifying to observe.”</p><p>“Yeah. Um, have you eaten yet?” </p><p>“Not yet. Tell me,” Mycroft’s eyes dragged over the food trucks in the distance, “Which establishment would you recommend?” </p><p>“Definitely the taco truck. The food is Filipino-based. They have this amazing ketchup that is actually made from bananas.” </p><p>Mycroft arched an eyebrow. “A banana ketchup?”</p><p>“Don’t knock it until you try it.” Greg lifted the carrier with Artemis inside. “If you give me a minute, I can put Artemis inside the building, and then give you a personalized tour of my favorite food truck.” <em> Please say yes. Please say yes. </em></p><p>“How could I say no to banana ketchup and a personal guide?” Mycroft smiled.</p><p><em> Yes! </em> “Great. Good. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” He turned around and ignored the urge to facepalm. <em> Jiffy, Greg? Be back in a jiffy? </em></p><p>Flame-faced, he walked to the building and placed Artemis in the employee lounge where it was quiet and empty. On his way back, he passed the tent Molly shared with Sherlock. Sherlock was explaining the development of bee larvae with the observation hive, while Molly talked to folks about planting native plants to feed local pollinators. Some kids sat at her table making seed bombs with wildflower seeds and clay.</p><p>Molly waved to him and winked. He assumed she’d seen Mycroft and was trying to communicate that, so he returned the wink. </p><p>Mycroft was waiting by the bird tent with his back to Greg. Sammy was on the stage still talking about Valor, and Mycroft seemed to pay  attention. Greg allowed himself a moment to admire the man’s ass. His legs were long and slim, and his pants hugged his behind, half-seen beneath the hem of his jacket. Greg dragged his eyes back up to head-level. Product held Mycroft’s hair in place, and Greg wondered what it would look like mussed and tousled. </p><p>“Shall we?” he said with cheer as he reached him.</p><p>Mycroft turned. “Yes.” His smile could make Greg melt, but Greg told his knees to get it together and began walking toward the food trucks, Mycroft at his side.</p><p>“When does the festival end?” Mycroft asked.</p><p>“It’s only eleven to three. A lot of people attend church in the morning, and we find the afternoons get sparse with people on a Sunday, so we keep it nice and short.”</p><p>“Mm.” </p><p>Greg pursed his lips. It was customary for the staff to go out to the nearby bar and celebrate with appetizers and drinks. Would Mycroft want to go? Would it be weird to invite him, being that he wasn’t staff?</p><p>Well, he was someone who seemed impressed by the nature center and even vested in its mission. His brother worked here. It wasn’t like staff never invited other friends, partners, and family members to these kinds of gatherings. </p><p>They reached the food truck as Greg pondered. A colorful chalkboard menu announced their offerings.</p><p>“The chicken adobo is to die for, but the beef sliders are good, also,” Greg said. “Generally, I’m a vegetarian. But I make an allowance for holidays and festival days.”</p><p>Mycroft looked entertained by this idea. “A flexitarian, then?”</p><p>“Sure. I’m not married to any of it.” Greg grinned. </p><p>“And what goes best with banana ketchup?”</p><p>“Either. They also serve fries.” </p><p>“Well, this is not my normal fare, but I am willing to try. I shall have the chicken adobo and forgo the fries.”</p><p>“Me too. But I’m having fries.” </p><p>They made their orders and then stood around, talking about various facets of the festival and of running a festival. Kids ran by and adults followed at more leisurely paces. The band was going strong playing old rock hits, and people had danced. The smell of grilled food permeated the air, and the sun was high in the blue sky.</p><p>Greg worried his lower lip and felt his heart rate speed up as he considered inviting Mycroft out again. </p><p>The guy at the truck window called Mycroft’s name, and he collected his food. Greg’s plate was right behind his. They squirted the banana ketchup onto their offerings, and Greg watched as Mycroft took his first bite. When he dabbed his lips with a napkin, Greg couldn’t help but notice the light sheen of moisture across them. <em> Kissable. </em></p><p>
  <em> Down, Greg! </em>
</p><p>“This is delicious.” Mycroft sounded surprised.</p><p>Greg winked at him. “I wouldn’t lead you wrong.”</p><p>“Whilst I must admit I had my doubts, you were correct to take me here.” Mycroft licked his lips and Greg’s mouth watered. He took a quick bite of his chicken. </p><p>“Hey, you two,” Molly trotted up to them. “Mycroft, nice to see you.”</p><p>“Molly, splendid to see you again.”</p><p>“How’re you liking Connecticut?”</p><p>“It has many lovely pastimes. I’ve spent my weekdays in the city for work, but my weekends have been rather restful with this country air. I think I may telecommute from where I’m staying for the rest of my time.”</p><p>“Didn’t you say you were here on sabbatical?” Molly asked. “Doesn’t that mean you get a break?”</p><p>Mycroft chuckled. “For most people, yes. This arrangement is in part a test of my staff. All very capable people, mind you, but without my presence over their shoulders, I get a chance to see their initiative and ability to follow through without my mothering.  And it was forced upon me by our human resources department who fear my saved up vacation days might bankrupt them if I were to ever leave.” Mycroft shrugged. “This is a compromise. I complete a task here with the U.N. Once that’s finished, I remain here for several months working limited hours remotely.” </p><p>Greg’s stomach flipped with a sense of uncertainty. Mycroft, even if he were gay and interested, would have limited time here on the North American continent. </p><p>
  <em> But you knew that. </em>
</p><p>“Oh, how many months will you be here for?” Molly said.</p><p>“Through the summer, much to Sherlock’s disappointment.” He smiled at this and took another bite of his food.</p><p><em> That’s more than enough time for some fun.</em> Greg chomped down on a fry. We<em> could still be friends when he leaves. </em></p><p>Molly’s cheeks turned pink. “Oh, it can’t be that bad. I’m sure he’s secretly glad you’re here.”</p><p>Mycroft chuckled, his mouth still full. </p><p>“Oh, hey, listen, you should join us after the festival.” Her eyes sparkled as they met Greg’s and dove back to Mycroft.</p><p>Greg’s stomach exploded with butterflies, but he pretended to be casual as he nodded his head and added, “Oh yeah. There’s an idea! The staff always go to the Rocking Fox afterward to celebrate.” <em> Way to go, Molly! </em></p><p>Mycroft swallowed his bite. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly interrupt your merrymaking. Besides, Sherlock would never forgive me, or you, for the invitation.”</p><p>“Sherlock never comes!” Molly waved him off. “You could come in his stead.”</p><p>“I suppose one Holmes is as good as any other,” he said with a smirk.</p><p>“Well, I don’t know about that, but I’d love to have you there as our guest,” Greg said. </p><p>“Very well. You two have convinced me.” He put the last bite of food in his mouth, and Greg grinned. </p><p>“Great! Well, I should order and then return to my tent. See ya both at the Fox!” Molly waved to them, her grin bright, and strode across the grass to another truck.</p><p>“Well," Greg said and cleared his throat. "I should help Sammy put away the birds. He should be just about done with his part of the presentation.”</p><p>“Excellent. I shall meet you at this bar...The Rocking Fox?”</p><p>“Yeah. We should be there about 3:30.”</p><p>“I shall see you then.” He tilted his head, and it reminded Greg of a formal bow. <em> How does he do that with just a tiny suggestion of movement? </em></p><p>Greg nodded back, though it wasn’t nearly as reminiscent of anything fancy, and turned on his heel, hands in his pockets. He smiled as he headed for the bird tent, hoping it wasn’t too dopey looking, stomach effervescing like a shaken seltzer bottle.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please do as you wish, but my headcanon for Marcus is Michael B. Jordan.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Rocking Fox</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Male turkeys are immense birds who strut like models on stage during the breeding season. They fan their resplendent tails, emit crazy sounding gobbling noises, and even cause the colors of their bare heads to change - in shades of white, red, and blue. But even with all this grandstanding, the females remain interested in one constant: how long is the snood? This ornamental bit of flesh dangles from atop the male turkey’s head and has proven, again and again, to be the determining factor.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Turns out, this is one area in the animal kingdom where length matters.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I didn’t hear a thank you, yet.” Molly was smug as she handed him a hard cider. The bottle was ice cold in his hand and the fizzy liquid exhilarating as it coursed down his throat. Apple scent with a tang of alcohol invaded his nostrils. </p><p>He wiped his mouth. “Thanks, I think.” They were seated at a long wooden table, glossed on high. The Rocking Fox was a happening place, usually, but slow at the moment. With a funky, discotheque-style decor and a line of local brews, it catered to many tastes. </p><p>“What did she do for you this time?” Henric sat down at the table next to Greg. His wife Lisa slid into the chair on the other side of him. She bumped bottles with Molly and Greg, her brown bob bouncing as she did. As a High Point employee, Lisa was often the voice of reason when Henric, a visionary guy, got ahead of himself and wanted to wrench the organization into a direction it couldn’t always afford. When he wanted to turn a section of the woods into a campground, all the naturalists were vehemently against it on the account of foot traffic, vehicles, fire safety, and costs. Lisa was the one who gave Henric the proverbial smack upside the head for entertaining the idea.</p><p>Though Greg would guess it might not have been that proverbial. </p><p>Lisa looked from Molly to Greg. “So, what did you do for him?”  </p><p>Molly took a swig of her bottle. “Well, I don’t know if I want to embarrass him…”</p><p>Greg blushed and looked away, taking a longer swig of his.</p><p>“He does that enough on his own. No need to defend his honor,” Henric said.</p><p>“All right, fine,” Molly placed her bottle on the table. “Remember that guy from the other day, when Greg almost crashed and burned by being his usual corny self?”</p><p>“Hey now!” Greg held his hands up in protest.</p><p>“Yes, I do,” Henric’s blue eyes shifted to Greg with interest and a Cheshire cat grin. </p><p>Lisa perked up. “Hey, I didn’t hear about this! What guy?”</p><p>Henric faced her and said, “Greg’s got a crush on some English guy who’s been coming around the Preserve.”</p><p>“Awww,” Lisa said as she grinned at Greg. “How did I miss this?”</p><p>“He’s joining us today,” Molly piped up. “Also, he’s Sherlock’s brother.”</p><p>Henric’s eyes widened. “Sherlock has a brother?”</p><p>“No way!” Lisa said.</p><p>“God help us all,” Henric joked.</p><p>“Quiet!” Lisa swatted his arm. </p><p>Molly’s face was slightly flushed. “He does. An older brother who is kinda handsome, and Greg here has got it bad.”</p><p>“Jesus, Molly.” Greg glanced around. “He’ll be here and I don’t need him to hear you spilling tea like that.”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure Brits focus more on drinking tea,” Henric said. </p><p>“Wow with the stereotypes,” Greg replied.</p><p>“Does he wear a redcoat?” Henric asked, lifting his beer toward Greg. </p><p>“Seriously?” </p><p>“Would he wear a redcoat if you asked?” Henric winked.</p><p>“I’m done with this conversation.” Greg could hear Lisa laughing like a drunk hyena on the other side of Henric. “Please don’t embarrass me. It’s been a while. Have pity on an old man.”</p><p>Sammy sat down across from Henric with a margarita in hand. "How goes it?"</p><p>Greg tried to keep his face from showing his surprise. <em> Of course Sammy would be here! What did you think would happen? </em></p><p>Irene Adler, the new Director of Marketing &amp; Development, sat next to Sammy with what looked like a whiskey on the rocks. Mike Stamford sat down next to her, his hands wrapped around a beer.  </p><p>“To a well-attended festival!” Irene lifted her glass in a salute and took a gulp. She was a gorgeous woman with skin like porcelain, brunette hair wrapped in a French chignon, and cheekbones that could cut you. While she’d only started working at High Point a few months before, she slid in easily with the gang, whip-smart and witty. Greg’d also had the pleasure of meeting her wife, who seemed the more laid-back one - a quieter peahen to all of Irene’s peacocking. </p><p>“The gang all here yet?” Mike asked. The glare on his glasses reflected the neon sign behind Greg. Greg’d known Mike for the twelve years he worked at High Point. The man was a whiz at numbers and kept the cash flow going at the preserve; and his wife kept some extra weight on all the staff with the amount of scrumptious baked goods she sent in with him.</p><p>“Mostly.” Molly moved one seat down and winked at Greg as she did it, leaving an empty chair between them. She tossed her head toward the front entrance of the bar. Through the glass doors, Greg could see the svelte form of Mycroft Holmes approaching. </p><p>Greg looked back to the people around the table. The hair on his neck was up. Sammy and Irene watched him, the curiosity evident on their features. </p><p>“Listen,” Greg hesitated, wishing Sammy wasn’t present. “This guy coming in; I’m going to introduce him.” He shot a quick look at Sammy. If he announced his intentions right here, Sammy wouldn’t try to move in on Mycroft, would he?</p><p>
  <em> Then Mycroft was never meant to be yours. Just like Jack. And that was a bullet dodged, wasn’t it? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And really? Sammy and you are supposed to be past this! </em>
</p><p>“I need you guys to help me figure out if he’s gay and if he’s interested.” Irene’s eyes lit up, while Sammy’s face shifted to an indecipherable expression. </p><p>Molly blew air through her lips. “Oh my god, he’s interested.”</p><p>Greg frowned at her. Alcohol always loosened her lips without enhancing her usual awkwardness. Most of the time, it was fun.</p><p>“I like this game. I like this a lot,” Irene said, her blue eyes scintillating in the low lighting of the bar. “Shall we wager?”</p><p>“Wager? What? No, I just - oh, hey, Mycroft!” Mycroft appeared beside their table. Greg stood. “Mycroft Holmes, everyone. He’s here from England for a few months. Visiting his brother, Sherlock.” Greg realized he was speaking rather loudly, with a too wide grin on his face. He cleared his throat, and could see the amusement plain as a sparrow on several of his coworkers’ faces. </p><p>Irene stood and held out her hand. “How charming! Sherlock never mentioned he had a brother.”</p><p>“No, I don’t imagine he would.” Mycroft shook her hand. </p><p>“Mycroft, this is Irene Adler. She’s our Director of Marketing and Development.” <em> Would he be interested in her? </em>She was a stunner in her slim leggings, silky black blouse, and light, tasteful jewelry. Her pert, smiling lips were painted poppy-flower red, and her intensely blue eyes fixed on Mycroft with interest. </p><p>Mycroft greeted her with what seemed genuine politeness and turned his attention to Mike, who’d raised halfway out of his chair and shook his hand. “Mike Stamford.”</p><p>“Mike is our HR guy and is in charge of finances.”</p><p>“A pleasure to meet you, Mike,” came Mycroft’s polite, clipped reply.</p><p>“This is Henric Mercer. He’s the Executive Director of High Point.” Henric stood and held his hand out over the table. Mycroft shook it.</p><p>“A most impressive organization you have the privilege of captaining, sir.” Mycroft’s smile was wide and his eyes crinkled. </p><p>“It is a privilege,” Henric said, easily heard over the low noise of the bar patrons and music. “Though it can get a little dicey with this crew.” </p><p>“I’m sure,” Mycroft’s gaze swept over the rest of the table.</p><p>“This is Lisa Mercer. She’s our Volunteer Coordinator and all-around know-it-all,” Greg gestured to Lisa. She held out a hand, an easy smile on her face that showed slightly crooked teeth. </p><p>Henric slipped a burly arm around Lisa’s thick waist. “I’m also lucky enough to be her husband,” he said. Lisa grinned and shoved him away.</p><p>“Good to meet you, Lisa,” Mycroft said.</p><p>“It’s a pleasure meeting you, too, Mycroft. You were at the festival today?”</p><p>“I was. The demonstrations were fascinating.”</p><p>Greg was aware of Sammy standing next to his chair, waiting for his introduction. The guy could wear a paper bag and look good. Clean cut looks, smooth unblemished skin, and bright white teeth. “And this is Sammy Donovan. He’s a naturalist at the preserve, like me and Molly.”</p><p>Sammy nodded and shook hands with Mycroft. The shake was quick and Sammy said, “Nice to meet you.” </p><p>Mycroft bobbed his chin once. “You, as well.”</p><p>“There’s a seat here for you, Mycroft, between Greg and I.” Molly patted the chair.</p><p>Mycroft moved around the table to sit down, and Greg glanced at Sammy. Sammy didn’t look at him as he sat back in his chair and pulled out his cellphone. Irene, however, gazed at him with an alarming intensity. She tossed a meaningful look in Mycroft’s direction. Greg sat and turned to his guest.</p><p>Mike was talking. “So, you’re Sherlock’s brother?”</p><p>“Regrettably at times, I am,” Mycroft said.</p><p>“Hey, what are you having? My treat,” Greg said.</p><p>“What are you imbibing?” Mycroft indicated Greg’s amber bottle.</p><p>“Hard cider. Very refreshing after a festival day.”</p><p>Mycroft’s brow furrowed and his mouth pulled to one side. </p><p>“They’ve got an excellent whiskey selection here, Mycroft,” Irene said.</p><p>“Have they?” His smile slipped back into place. “Well, I’d never turn down an excellent whiskey.”</p><p>“I suppose you’ve sampled a lot of scotch whisky. Perhaps you should try something new? I know of a Colorado bourbon that is wonderfully smooth, unlike anything you’ve probably tasted across the pond.” Irene was being more gracious than usual, all smiles and a purr to her voice. Greg’s shoulders tensed and the hairs on his nape tingled. </p><p>“That sounds lovely. I’m willing to try new things; it’s part of the reason I’m spending my sabbatical here in the US.”</p><p>Irene smiled sweetly at Greg. “The Breckenridge.” She tipped her own glass to him. Ah, so what she was drinking. </p><p>“I’ll get it for you. On the rocks?” Greg said, though he was loath to leave Mycroft at the table with Irene. As entrenched as he’d been in his fearful thoughts of Sammy, he’d discounted Irene as a potential rival for Mycroft’s attention. If Mycroft was straight, fine. But Greg didn’t need to see any Mycroftian mating rituals directed at someone else.</p><p>“Please,” Mycroft said. Greg nodded and glanced at Irene, who kept her gaze trained on Mycroft. He pursed his lips as he headed to the bar. </p><p>“Breckenridge, on the rocks.” He ordered the drink with a gruff voice and threw down the cash. </p><p>
  <em> Jesus Christ. What the hell is she up to? Why would she do that? </em>
</p><p>As far as he was aware, Molly was the only one who knew the details of his and Sammy’s falling out. Irene had no idea. And, when he’d admitted his interest in Mycroft, Irene referred to it as a game. She was flirty, often skated the edge of what was appropriate, but this was over the top, even for her.</p><p>The bartender put the bourbon down with a thump and grabbed the cash.</p><p>“Keep the change,” said Greg, and headed back to the table. He almost stumbled in his steps when he saw that Irene was leaning over the table to show Mycroft something on her phone. Her cleavage ballooned over the low neckline of her blouse. </p><p>Mycroft’s eyes stayed on her phone.</p><p>He placed the bourbon in front of Mycroft, ice clinking, and sat down. “Cheers. Whatcha got there?”</p><p>Irene straightened up, her breasts falling back within the confines of her clothing. Greg tried to play it cool, taking a sip from his bottle of hard cider.</p><p>“Irene was showing me some maps of nearby areas she thought would be good for birding.”</p><p>“Oh, Irene, I didn’t realize you had an interest in birding,” Greg said.</p><p>“I learn by listening to you, of course.” Irene winked. “You’re the expert.”</p><p>Sammy smirked beside her. Greg’s face flamed, and he turned away so Sammy couldn’t see him. “So, what places did she recommend?”</p><p>“A couple spots in Massachusetts.”</p><p>“Oh, Mass Audubon?”</p><p>“Yes. Canoe Meadows and Lime Kiln Farm?”</p><p>“Great places to go in springtime,” Greg said. “Lots of birds migrating through the area.”</p><p>“You’ve been, then?” he asked, and a satisfactory curl of pleasure warmed in Greg’s chest.</p><p>“A few times. Great picnicking, too.” He’d taken Peregrine and Jo.</p><p>“Hm. Hadn’t thought of picnicking.” Mycroft pulled out his phone and typed something. “I shall have to investigate.” </p><p>
  <em> Should I offer to go with him? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s a day trip, Greg. A group outing to the bar is different - he can leave.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But a day-long outing? That might be pushing it. </em>
</p><p>Irene stared at him. <em> What does she want? </em></p><p>Her eyes snapped between him and Mycroft. She mouthed, ‘He’s gay.’</p><p>
  <em> Oh.  </em>
</p><p>What an idiot. He knew she wasn’t his competition; she’d been flirting on purpose to gauge Mycroft’s response. </p><p>Greg shared a sheepish smile with her, which earned him a wink. </p><p>“If you’re looking for a guide to the closest birding spots, you should definitely ask Greg to show you,” Molly announced. “He’s a bird nerd like that.”</p><p><em> Somebody take Molly’s drink away from her. </em>“Thanks,” he said, playing it up as if annoyed, but he smiled at her. </p><p>“I hate to prevail upon Greg’s kindness anymore than I already have,” Mycroft said.</p><p>“Nonsense! It’s the sort of thing he loves!” Irene said.</p><p>“She’s right,” Greg said and shrugged. <em> Oh my god, everyone shut up. </em>“I mean, they're right. I’d be happy to show you.”</p><p>Mycroft seemed amused, his lips curved upward and his eyes crinkling. “Then I shall take you up on it at some point.”</p><p>
  <em> At some point. </em>
</p><p>Okay, not an energetic leap at the chance to spend time with Greg, but promising.</p><p>Molly said something to Mycroft that Greg couldn’t hear. </p><p>“Everyone seems to have more than one job here,” Mycroft replied.</p><p>“That’s the nature of nonprofit. Everyone wears multiple hats and probably has two to three job titles.” The pressure of his bladder made itself known. “Oh, excuse me a minute.”</p><p>He stood and headed for the men’s room at the back of the bar. It was a dimly lit hallway with heavy doors leading to single stall bathrooms. Sammy stood outside the door to the men’s room. </p><p>“Oh.” He hadn’t noticed that Sammy had already left the table. “Hey.”</p><p>Sammy’s smile looked forced. “Hi.”</p><p>They waited in silence. The sound of the toilet flushing filtered into the hallway, followed by the sound of the taps running.</p><p>“Listen. Mycroft seems like an interesting guy,” Sammy said. Greg’s jaw tensed. “I really hope it works out for you. Whatever it is you want to do with him.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Neither man looked at each other.</p><p>“I’m, uh, back with Andy now,” Sammy said. </p><p>Greg almost groaned. “Uh-huh. Did he leave his wife yet?”</p><p>Sammy’s face screwed into a grimace. “No.”</p><p>Greg couldn’t help his eye roll. “Sammy -”</p><p>“I know what you’re gonna to say. I know what you think of me.” Sammy spoke to the floor. “It’s different with Andy. He got married young and they have kids, but we do love each other. He’s just...waiting for the right time. His wife’s been sick. He’s not ready.” Sammy shuffled his feet. He wore black converse, marked and scuffed on the white soles. “It’s different than what it was with Jack. I thought you guys were over. He said that to me. That you were over. And it was just the one night. I’ve told you that, and sometimes I feel like you never actually believed me, even though you said you did.”</p><p>Greg gritted his teeth.</p><p>“And Andy loves me. And I love him. I’m not...Jack was a mistake.” Sammy let out a rush of air through his lips. “It’s all fucked up with us, and that’s my fault. Just...know that I hope you get your man. I’m not your enemy. I feel like real shit for what happened last time. Still.”</p><p>Greg unclenched his jaw. “Sammy, what happened...I was mad at you, and still am sometimes, but I know it was Jack. Jack was the manipulator in all this. You know that.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I feel like you’re still punishing me for it.”</p><p>The hand dryer was going on in the bathroom.</p><p>“I try not to. I just...find it hard to trust you, now.”</p><p>“I get that. I, uh, want you to know that I want you to be happy. Those things Jack said about you...I know they aren’t true. I want us to be friends, again, you know.”</p><p>Greg drew in a deep breath, pulling in the smells of beer and cologne and wood varnish into his lungs, and let it out. “I appreciate that. I do. It’s just been...taking me time. And this is the first time since Jack that I’ve met someone I really like.”</p><p>“Yeah. You’ve kind of been a real workaholic. I never see you at the club.”</p><p>“After all those rumors spread, I couldn’t even show my face there.”</p><p>Sammy frowned. “That’s some bullshit.”</p><p>“It is.” Greg’s voice was edged with anger.</p><p>The door to the bathroom opened. Sammy nodded to Greg before sliding past the guy coming out and shutting the door behind him. The click of the lock was like the final note of a song.</p><p>Greg leaned up against the wall, folded his arms, and banged his head against the paneling. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“So, the grad students work through the season to run the trials - what works best, straight species of native plants, or cultivars,” Molly said. “They take notes on pollinators that visit the plants, weather, time of day, all sorts of things that help us to later interpret the data.”</p><p>“And then off to publication?” Mycroft asked.</p><p>“Yep,” she said as she blew an errant bit of hair out of her face. Greg had always thought Molly had a pretty face, the kind of prettiness that crept up on you, unlike Irene whose beauty struck you over the head no matter your sexual orientation. </p><p>Mycroft gave her the same interested look he gave anyone while speaking with them. He asked engaging questions and seemed to absorb knowledge like a sponge. His recall surprised and delighted Greg.</p><p>If there was one trait Greg strongly appreciated aside from a long, slim body, it was a brilliant mind.</p><p>Sammy hopped up and Greg’s attention swept to him. He was looking down at his phone. “I have to take this. I’m gonna go. Great festival, everyone.” He flashed a wave at all of them and strode toward the exit.</p><p>Irene shook her head. Greg raised an eyebrow at her.</p><p>“Slut,” she whispered, and winked. </p><p><em> You have no idea. </em> Greg forced a smile and turned his attention back to Molly and Mycroft. </p><p>Molly was speaking. “You have no idea until you try it. He’s an amazing cook!”</p><p>“What?” His blood buzzed with the effects of the alcohol. How many had he had already?</p><p>“Indeed?” Mycroft turned to look with interest at Greg, assessing him. </p><p>“I was just telling Mycroft about that vegetarian chili you made for us once.” Molly’s face was bright with mischief as she placed a hand on Mycroft’s arm to get his attention. “He makes this spicy slaw to go with it. I’ve never tasted anything like it, and I don’t normally like cole slaw. No mayonnaise is the key, I think.”</p><p>“That and the ratio of vinegar to sugar,” Greg piped up. He pressed his lower lip between his teeth, and feeling high on Molly’s praise, winked at Mycroft. “Come over sometime, I’ll be happy to make it for you.”</p><p>Molly looked as if she might burst. Mycroft’s attention was on Greg and he looked pleased as he patted his pocket and pulled out his phone. “What night shall I come over?”</p><p>Greg’s heart leaped, somersaulted, and landed in a split with arms thrown high in a flourish. “How about Saturday night?”</p><p>“That works for me,” Mycroft said as he typed into his phone. “May I have your mobile number?”</p><p>Molly’s eyes enlarged as her grin widened, straight backed in her chair and her hands folded in her lap. Greg could see it all from his periphery, and ignored it, because he thought he might laugh from nerves. </p><p>“Yeah, let me put it in for you.” Mycroft handed Greg his phone, and Greg typed it in, trying not to smile too widely. </p><p>Mycroft took it back. “Lestrade. A beautiful French surname.”</p><p>“Grandparents were immigrants to Canada.”</p><p>“Mm.” Mycroft put his phone away. “I’m afraid I should go. Greg, Molly, you’ve been incredibly kind to have invited me.” He stood, and the rest of the table turned their heads to focus on him. “Mike, Irene, Todd, Lisa, and Henric. Thank you for including me as one of your own for an afternoon.” </p><p>There were goodbyes said and hands shaken. Greg said goodbye last.</p><p>“Next Saturday, then?” Mycroft said.</p><p>His stomach flipped as his heart flashed like a firework. “Next Saturday.” He hoped his desperate elation wasn’t obvious on his face. </p><p>“I bid you adieu,” Mycroft bowed his head and left.</p><p>After the doors closed behind him, Irene and Molly began talking at once.</p><p>“Gay! Greg, he’s so gay!”</p><p>“Oh my god, you have a date!”</p><p>And Henric’s voice boomed over them, “Way to go, my man!” Lisa and Mike laughed while Todd looked around in confusion.</p><p>“And on that note,” Mike said. “I have to go before my wife starts looking for me.” He stood and drank the last bit of water he had in the glass, placing it back on the table with a loud clink. He reached his hand toward Greg. “Greg, congratulations. I didn’t realize you were so hard up for a date, or I would have introduced you to a really nice fellow Anita and I know.”</p><p>Greg shook his hand while shaking his head. “Y’all are trying to humiliate me into an early grave, aren’t you?”</p><p>Mike laughed as he gesticulated, his features buoyed with amusement. “I swear nothing by it. Just happy to see you happy.”</p><p>“Thanks, Mike.”</p><p>“This is sweet and all, but Lisa and I have to go home, too.” Henric said as he stood. </p><p>Another round of goodbyes happened, and Todd decided to go, leaving Molly, Irene, and Greg. </p><p>“I have a date,” Greg said.</p><p>Irene laughed. </p><p>“You do.” Molly patted his arm. </p><p>Greg rested in the joy that was good company and a few drinks. But mostly, he reveled in the fact that he had a date with one very good looking British man. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. A Mycorrhizal Network</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Apologies if you thought this would be the date chapter. This is set up for some further storyline, and the “date” will happen in the next chapter! 😁</p><p>Meanwhile, I’d like to thank everyone for kudos and comments. WIP readers are the real heroes. ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Trees have social networks. For centuries, people have considered trees to be in competition with one another, a sort of plant-based Darwinism. And while to some extent this is true, plants also work together. Like human communities, these relationships can be affected by resource availability, disturbance (or disaster), and variations throughout the seasons. In a woodland, sunlight in the understory (the area below the high canopy) can be precious and scant. Plants with access to sunlight can share carbon with plants in shady areas. The rich giving to the poor. <br/>
</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And what performs this sorcery?<br/>
</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fungus.  </em><br/>
<em><br/>
People have vast imaginations, but who could have imagined that plants transfer carbon, nitrogen, phosphorus, water, defense compounds, all through the stringy hyphae of an underground fungus? Parent plants can support seedlings this way. A stump can be given life through the work of its neighbors. Plants unable to photosynthesize can live, connected to this vast, diverse, species-rich mycorrhizal network. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>There, in the dark, is a process we can all learn from.  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Greg stared at the selections on his Netflix account. “<em>Schitt’s Creek </em> it is, old man.”</p><p>Scratch purred from his spot at Greg’s right thigh. He moved his hand to stroke along Scratch’s shoulder blades. “Maybe next Saturday you’ll meet a new friend of mine.” <em> Not maybe.  </em></p><p>
  <em> But...is it really a date? We didn’t specify it was actually a ‘date’. </em>
</p><p>Molly and Irene seemed to think it was a date.</p><p><em> God, it’s like I’m fourteen again. </em> Though admittedly that had been more about getting off than a nice dinner getting to know one another. </p><p>He pulled out his phone and texted Jo.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> I think i might have a date. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> wut? That’s great! But what  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> do u mean might? is it a date  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> or not???? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That’s a good question. Greg tipped his head back to hit the top of the couch. He blew air out his cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> I mean, i think? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s coming over for dinner </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m cooking </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Dinner’s promising. Y not  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ask and make sure? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Srsly? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> So it’s a little </em>
</p><p>
  <em> embarrassing </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Better to know than not, right? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> I blame Molly for this. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> U got Molly making dates </em>
</p><p>
  <em> 4 u? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> That’s how sad it’s gotten. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Stop it. I bet Molly makes </em>
</p><p>
  <em> a great wingwoman </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Well, i guess she does </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Except i’m still not clear if it’s </em>
</p><p>
  <em> a date </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> OMG.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Greg stretched along the couch and his spine popped like a zipper, almost displacing Scratch who eyed him with a touch of scorn in his amber eyes. His phone buzzed again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> How did Molly end up making </em>
</p><p>
  <em> the date for u? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He gave her a quick rundown of the afternoon. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> So all it took was Molly </em>
</p><p>
  <em> talking about ur chili? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Yep </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> The guy must love chili </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Do they have chili in England? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Y wouldnt they? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sent</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Fair. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Scratch yowled in his face, making him flinch. “Jesus Christ!” He returned to petting him.  “Don’t mean to ignore you, buddy. Just got a lot on my mind.” The cat started purring. “I’m just gonna text Molly real quick. She really seemed to think it was a date.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Listen. I appreciate what you </em>
</p><p>
  <em> did but i dont think its actually </em>
</p><p>
  <em> a date </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> What? He’s into you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Hes here on a work trip and  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> then sabbatical </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s not looking for a relationship </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Right. But a fling w/ a handsome </em>
</p><p>
  <em> American? I think he’s up for it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Maybe he’s just lonely and  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> wants a friend. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> That’s not bad either, is it? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> True </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Just have dinner. See where </em>
</p><p>
  <em> the night takes you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Greg groaned and glanced up at the show. Catherine O’Hara looked fabulous in her get-up as Moira - maybe he oughta call Peregrine and Skype the show together? They used to do it every Sunday night - pick a show, make popcorn at their respective houses, tunnel under blankets and talk while the show was on. Just another thing Peregrine became too busy for. </p><p>His phone vibrated again. This time it was Jordana.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s been too long for u. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And I think it’s because ur  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> scared.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>While he was thinking of a reply, it vibrated again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Its been what 2 yrs?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Get back out there. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Even if this doesnt turn into </em>
</p><p>
  <em> anything serious, its good  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> practice ;-) </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Jesus Christ. It has been two years. </em> A couple anonymous hand jobs over the time had been fun, but empty. Molly and Jo had been his bedrock in emotional tangles, and Damien his cheerleader when it came to random hookups. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Yeah, youre right.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> I know :-D </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The week had been one of those busy rush everywhere sorts of weeks. Yellow school buses burst with elementary-age children excited to be let loose from school onto the nature center. Greg had led program after program about whatever topic du jour the school had booked - animal classifications, soils, plants, the water cycle, and so on. There were animals to care for, schedules to juggle, meetings to attend and a debrief of the Earth Day Festival. Greg organized volunteers in weeding the outdoor aviaries, identified leaves and insects for the public, and daily glove-trained with the eagle and the red-tailed hawk. By the time he got home, exhaustion settled in his bones, making it hard to keep his eyelids open. Dinner was quick - frozen vegetables, pan-seared tofu or tempeh, followed by Oreos while watching Netflix with Scratch. He woke often in the middle of the night with an ache in his neck, and shuffled off the sofa to his bedroom. </p><p>Now it was Friday, and while he was collapsed on the couch again in front of the tv with Scratch in his lap, he stewed. </p><p>His phone vibrated with a call.</p><p>“What’s up?”</p><p>“Hey loser,” Damien said. “Long time no talk.”</p><p>“Who’s fault is that?”</p><p>“Hey, no one’s laying blame anywhere. Things have been busy.”</p><p>“Yeah? It’s too early for tourist season, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Getting ready, though. Airing out the cottages, putting pansies in the planters, that sort of shit.” Damien owned a row of seaside efficiency cottages in Truro, Massachusetts but tourist season didn’t start properly out on Cape Cod until June. </p><p>“Yeah? I don’t see you as the gardening type.”</p><p>“That’s why I hired one.”</p><p>Greg snorted. “You get into his pants yet?”</p><p>“I’m insulted,” Damien said, and Greg could hear the smirk in his tone. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”</p><p>“Well, I might have a date tomorrow?”</p><p>“Might? Dude, what are we, in eighth grade?”</p><p>“Feels like that sometimes.”</p><p>“Jeez. Why don’t you drive down to Partners if Triangles is so tainted?”</p><p>“The last time I went to Partners, Jack was actually there. I told you that.”</p><p>“God, fuck that dude.”</p><p>“I did, and that’s part of the problem.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ, Greg, the scene ain’t that small in Connecticut. How does he show up everywhere you go?”</p><p>“He’s treated like a goddamn celebrity at Triangles. Partners is a backup for when he’s bored of Triangles. Ever since Cedar Cafe closed the only other place to go is out in Hartford, and who the fuck really wants to drive that far? You might as well head into the city.” There were plenty of places to choose from in NYC. “And you know all the other places are sports bars and redneck bars full of straights.”</p><p>“How come you don’t go into the city?”</p><p>“It’s not my thing, anymore.”</p><p>“Then how are you gonna meet guys?”</p><p>“It’s not everything, right?” Greg didn’t sound convincing to himself, but Damien bought it.</p><p>“No, it’s not. But I think it’s good for you to get laid every once in a while. How’s the job going?”</p><p>They talked a while longer. Talking to Damien distracted him while they were on the phone, but when they hung up, a heavy weight settled over him like a graveyard shroud. </p><p>Sammy had asked him if he’d go to the club tonight. The question had surprised Greg, but then he knew Sammy was making an effort. Probably figured going drinking and dancing was the most effective way to help warm the chill between the two of them. </p><p>“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Uh, Andy’s gonna meet me there, but Isaac will be there, too, and you guys get along,” Sammy said. </p><p>“Yeah, I don’t think so. Anytime I show my face anywhere, one of Jack’s cronies gets in my face, and I just don’t have it in me for the drama anymore.”</p><p>“Aw, come on. Nobody talks about it anymore. Really.” Sammy was really making an effort, and Greg found he did appreciate it.</p><p>“Listen, Sammy, thanks for inviting me out. I’m just...not quite ready to go there. It’s been real shitty with what everyone there seems to think of me, and how quickly the rumors reignite the moment I step in the door. I don’t even have a chance with anyone new!” Greg said, and rubbed his hands through his hair. “But, listen, maybe next time. I’m exhausted after this week, anyway.”</p><p>“Okay, fine.” Sammy smiled, an earnest smile that made Greg feel lighter about things between them. “And just so you know, Greg...the last time someone said something about you, I told them about your side of things. What you’d told me… Jack’s a psychopath. He’s got them all eating out of his hand, and I was there once... I know how it is.”</p><p>A lump grew in Greg’s throat. “Yeah. Me too.”</p><p>“And, you know, I think some people are beginning to pick up on it, too. You can only be like that for so long before people start picking up on - inconsistencies.” Sammy rubbed the right toe of his shoe into the carpet. “You know?”</p><p>“Yeah...I had hoped…” Greg cleared his throat and scratched the side of his neck. “I had sort of hoped he might - well, he couldn’t keep up the charade forever, could he? But...I mean, I dated him for five years. I didn’t realize the full extent of his...manipulation. I’m the real idiot, here.”</p><p>“Nah. He’s just a snake.” Sammy stopped toeing the carpet. “I just wish more people could see him for what he is...but he’s good at giving people what they want.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Greg’s gut crystalized with a cold feeling. “Yeah.”</p><p>Then the conversation was interrupted by Henric, and the two of them finished out their day. Separately.</p><p>Now Greg sat on his couch with an old tomcat and another season of <em> Parks &amp; Rec. </em></p><p>“What the fuck am I even doing with my life?” he said.</p><p>Scratch eyed him as if to say ‘I gotta listen to yet another woe-is-me monologue?’ </p><p>“Gahhhh.” Greg folded his arms and scooched further down on the couch, ignoring the baleful glare of the cat. <em> This is what it’s become. What I’ve become. Am I supposed to be experiencing a mid-life crisis already? Jesus fucking christ. </em></p><p>Jack had been good. He’d isolated Greg from his old friends. Of course, he couldn’t separate Greg from his co-workers, or the mother of his child. Greg didn’t even notice at first. Just, Jack didn’t get along with Damien. He accused Greg of preferring Damien’s company to his own. Jack’d been intractable during their trip to Cape Cod. Nights were spent in the East Coast gay mecca of Provincetown. It was safe for any gay couple to walk down the main street hand in hand with their partner. Drag queens stood out on the street advertising their comedy shows. Sex toy and leather shops showed their wares in the windows. Rainbow flags adorned nearly every store. It was supposed to be a fun vacation where they could have their pick of clubs and bars to go to. </p><p>Instead, Greg ended up in their tiny rental cottage with an arm around a distraught Jack, who told Greg that he felt like he was losing him. The whole situation sent Greg into a tizzy of demonstrating his love for Jack by not joining up with Damien at the clubs or bars, and spending the night making love instead.</p><p>Damien had been pissed. Greg had tried to apologize. Damien said he didn’t want to see Jack again.</p><p>Jack was so good at appealing to Greg’s caretaker side. Greg was the type to dote on his partners. He liked to cook them breakfast or a good dinner. He tended to make them get off first in bed. Help them with problems. Comfort them when they needed comfort. In his younger years, before there was Jo and Peregrine, he’d fucked a lot of guys and even then he’d been as considerate as possible to preferences and level of comfort. </p><p>Greg could see now that Jack figured it out early on and capitalized on it. First, he told Greg a story of childhood abuse, his trouble with trust issues, and his need for someone to take care of him during sex. Greg ran right into the relationship trying to be Jack’s knight-in-shining-armor.</p><p>Of course, hindsight is 20/20. It never occured to Greg to slow down, to question Jack’s motives, to wonder why Jack sometimes said one thing and did something else. He chalked it up to Jack’s emotional problems from his upbringing. He told himself to have patience, to be gentle, to let Jack figure it out with him. To give it time.</p><p>He gave it so much damn time. </p><p>Jack was ten years younger. He was over six feet with eyes like aquamarine stones and a devilish, crooked smile. His blond hair curled with glints of burnished gold. With well-formed cheekbones and a rounded chin, Jack could have his pick of the gay men anywhere. And it turned out, he did, when Greg was busy with work or had Peregrine for the weekend. </p><p>And then, as if the infidelity wasn’t enough, it got worse.</p><p>Greg realized his heart was racing. Anxiety settled like lead in his stomach. This - this was why he wasn’t getting out, wasn’t meeting someone new. This fear right here, this anxiety, this jangling of his nerves along his limbs and lacing his solar plexus.  He didn’t figure Jack out, and he was with the guy for <em> five years </em>. </p><p>And that’s why this thing with Mycroft, if it became a thing, would be safe. <em> The man’s leaving for England at the end of the summer. </em> No reason to get in deep with him. Just, something fun, a fling. Some company, some sex, with someone mature and interesting who shares his love for birds. They’d stay friends once Mycroft left for England. Maybe see each other again if Mycroft visited Sherlock. Though, Sherlock had been here for a few years already, and he hadn’t seen Mycroft. So maybe that wouldn’t be a thing. Maybe Greg would finally get the courage to go out and meet someone real. Maybe he’d be able to trust his instincts again, and pick a good partner for himself. </p><p>Right? Maybe? His stomach didn’t feel so sure.</p><p>
  <em> Fuck. </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Greg sucked down water from his reusable bottle. He sat in the tiny cafe that was attached to the yoga studio. His limbs felt fluid, like the muscles were pooling in the dips of his body, trickling in streams of endorphins. Jo sat down at the table across from him. Or, more accurately, she melted into the chair across from him.</p><p>“That session was the shit,” she said and smiled as she leaned her rolled yoga mat against the leg of her chair. “I’m all rubbery.”</p><p>“Me too.” He snapped the lid shut on the bottle. “Where’s Peri?”</p><p>“She went next door to the bookstore. I asked her if she wanted something, but she said she’d be back in five. So, that means twenty.”</p><p>“Hmph.” He smiled. “I was thinking a smoothie.”</p><p>“Which one? I’ll buy this time.” Jo pulled open her purse on her lap.</p><p>“You know me. PB and chocolate, with a handful of spinach.” </p><p>“Got it.” She went to the counter, her braids bobbing behind her.</p><p>Greg tapped his fingers against the water bottle and glanced around the cafe. It was a trendy place hawking juices and smoothies, all smooth glossy surfaces and warm woods with minimalist lines. Bamboo grew in clear glass jars full of water and pebbles. He’d seen it a hundred times at this point, but he wasn’t really looking at anything. He was thinking of his revelation from last night. That he was no longer grieving the end of a relationship. He was afraid to put himself out there. He was hiding himself away from even the possibility of a relationship.</p><p>“What’s on your mind?” Jo interrupted his thoughts.</p><p>He lifted his shoulders as if to deflect her words. “Nothing much.”</p><p>“Uh-uh. You finally tell me you have a date, an honest to god date -”</p><p>“Well, no, he and I have not said it was a date -”</p><p>“I texted with Molly. I know how it went down. Sounds like a date to me.”</p><p>“Listen, I...I just have a lot on my mind -”</p><p>“Greg, stop. You’re overthinking things. I can tell.” She flipped her hands in the air as she went on. “You’re real quiet today. You sent me a bunch of texts the other night panicking about this dinner. Even if it’s not a date, you have a new friend, and maybe that will turn into something more.”</p><p>“I don’t even know if he’s gay.”</p><p>“Molly seems to think he is.”</p><p>“You trust Molly’s gaydar over mine?”</p><p>“At this point? Yes.” She leaned on her elbow. “Gods, I do not miss dating.”</p><p>Greg snorted. “Same, honestly.”</p><p>“Well, it’s about time you got out there again, right?”</p><p>“I know.” <em> I’m just afraid. </em></p><p>“Actually, um, I think...I <em> think </em> Marcus is going to propose.”</p><p>Greg’s eyes enlarged. “What?”</p><p>“Yeah. I, uh, well...you know we had this conversation about getting serious - about maybe getting a place together.” She nodded her head slowly as her eyes held Greg’s. “So, anyway, I caught him going through my jewelry…”</p><p>“Oh my god.”</p><p>A grin broke out on her face. “Yeah. And I saw him hold up a ring of mine, and then Peri came running down the hall for some reason, yelling about something -”</p><p>“What did he do?”</p><p>“Threw the ring into the jewelry box, closed it, and then walked away from the dresser, so I walked in like I had been heading toward the bedroom all along and Peri’s elephant stomp down the stairs hid the sound of my footsteps, or something.”</p><p>“And he believed that? Why were you lurking by the door anyway?”</p><p>The server at the counter called her name. “Let me get our smoothies and I’ll tell you.” She darted to the counter on her lean legs, and carried the two drinks back to the table - one a bright pink, and the other a murky, greenish brown.</p><p>“I still can’t believe you’d drink something that looks like that.” She said as she handed him his smoothie. </p><p>“I like the flavor. Now spill it!”</p><p>“Okay, so he was on the phone when he went down the hall, and then suddenly he was so quiet. I got curious.” She took a sip from her smoothie through the metal straw. “So I sort of went down the hall real quiet -”</p><p>“You were spying!”</p><p>“It’s not like that! Listen, I trust Marcus...I just thought it was weird.” Laugh lines broke out all across her face as her eyes widened with a look of innocence and her lips turned up in a big smile. “So, I did it! I’m not proud! But, I saw him through the crack of the door...I don’t know how he was going to determine my ring size, unless his plan was to steal it for a while.”</p><p>“You mean borrow.”</p><p>“Yeah. Borrow.”</p><p>“Well,” Greg stretched long in his chair and grinned. “I really hope that it works out for you. You’re going to say yes, aren’t you?”</p><p>The look on Jo’s face was one of pure joy. She beamed and her eyes glistened. “I think I just might, Greg.”</p><p>“Fuck yes, Jo!” Greg threw his arms up in a victory v. Then he hopped up and leaned down to hug her in her chair. “I’m so goddamn happy for you.”</p><p>Jordana glowed. “Me too. And, I think Peri will be alright with it, too. I mean, I won’t move out of her school district, so that she can finish high school where she is. Either we find something in her district, or we wait until she’s finished. It’s a tight squeeze at the moment, but he could move in with us. But, maybe I should wait until he’s actually proposed before I start planning anything.” She snickered.</p><p>“Fuck, I’m so happy for you, really.” He grabbed her hand as he sat back in his chair, holding it over the table. “You deserve so much happiness. You know, I know things aren’t easy for you all the time. What with being viewed as a single mom -” He held up his other hand as she moved to say something. “I know I’m her dad and I’m in her life, our life, and that we’ve been a family even if you and I don’t live in the same place. But people do view you as a single mom. Even your own family does it, and they know me! You’ve raised an amazing person, and I only helped you to do it. You also own your own condo, and have a great job, and you’ve been my best friend through all my bullshit. You deserve someone to make you happy and to take care of you.” <em> Even if he’s kind of an ass to me. </em></p><p>Jo shook her head and she wiped her eyes with her free hand. “Fuck you for making me tear up.” </p><p>“I’m serious, though. Over the years, I’ve always kind of felt like you had it worse than me when you got pregnant. We were hardly more than kids at the time.”</p><p>“But we did a great job.” Jo’s eyes continued to water.</p><p>“We did. But you did more work than me. I know you did.”</p><p>“You did your best, Greg. And that was all I wanted over the years.” She pulled her hand from his and used both of hers to rub at her eyes. “Now, I gotta look okay for when little miss gets back from the bookstore. No more sappy talk.”</p><p>Greg laughed as he crossed his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair.</p><p>“Oh, and next weekend, when you have Peri, would you want to join my family for a Saturday night BBQ? First one of the season,” Jo said. “Unless you have plans already.”</p><p>“Uh, no. I could take her.” Greg grabbed his smoothie. “She wants to go, right?”</p><p>“Actually, yes. She already asked if we were going.”</p><p>“Well, then, we’ll be there.” </p><p>“Okay. Great. Now.” She leaned over the table, the green flecks in her brown eyes like hidden jewels. “What are you wearing for that date tonight?”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Mating Dance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We talk a lot about animal mating rituals on the Mystrade Reading Discord it seems like, so this epigraph is for you guys. 😘</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a wild, wild world when it comes to courtship rituals in animals. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alderia modesta</span>
  <em>
    <span> is a hermaphroditic slug that engages in penis fencing. Male black widows “twerk” when approaching the females on their webs in order to avoid being eaten - and may get eaten anyway. The angler fish male attaches himself to the female, eventually becoming absorbed into her body until all that’s left is a pair of gonads for her to use. Bowerbirds create impressive, intricate structures that are intended to make the male seem larger than he actually is. Male porcupines drench potentially receptive females with a shower of urine from a tree. Humpback whale bulls gather in large groups and sing to let the ladies know where they are. Animals have evolved in myriad ways to form pairs with the intention to copulate.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Humans, though? That’s complicated.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The knock at the door sent Greg’s heart into a wild spin like a bonfire out of control. He huffed into the palm of his hand to check his breath, rolled his shoulders back and straightened his spine. His hair was spiked with product, his cologne was Jo’s favorite - light with clove and cedarwood - and he wore a black button down over indigo denim jeans, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He knew he looked good. He wasn’t as slender as he used to be, with a dewy face and shiny, brown hair, but he still got his share of appreciative glances everywhere he went. Around his neck was a black leather braided necklace with a sterling silver feather that nested in the notch atop his sternum. </p><p>He opened the door and Mycroft held out a bottle of wine. Greg didn’t miss the path of Mycroft’s eyes as they swept over Greg’s attire. “Ah, good evening. I bought this from a Connecticut winery. Have you tried it before?” He wore a light green scarf and a long, charcoal grey overcoat, fitting for the cool air of a spring evening. Greg accepted the bottle with what he hoped was his most welcoming smile. </p><p>“Oh, which winery?” He opened the door wider and stepped back as Mycroft stepped in.</p><p>“Jones Winery. I was told this should complement the chili.” His long, pale fingers began untying the scarf. “A sauvignon blanc would likely pair well with most hot vegetable dishes, I should think.”</p><p>“Let me put this down, and I’ll take your coat.” Greg closed the door behind him, and hurried to the kitchen. He set the wine down on the counter, glanced in the reflection of the microwave to make sure his hair hadn’t fallen out of place, and went back to the living room where Mycroft was removing his coat. “I can hang that for you.”</p><p>He placed it with care on the coat rack behind the door. He turned to see Mycroft wearing a white collared shirt open at the top, exposing just a glint of reddish chest hair, over tan chinos. He looked good.</p><p>
  <em> Christ. I have to figure out if this is a date or not, because he looks good enough to eat. </em>
</p><p>Mycroft’s face was a little flushed, and Greg wondered if he might be nervous. Or, if it could be the chill of the night air. “Goodness, it smells fantastic in here.”</p><p>“I made the chili this morning in the crock pot,” Greg said. “Um, let me get that wine.” He wiped his clammy hands on his jeans as he went into the kitchen. Mycroft followed and leaned against the doorway. “Well, the grand tour isn’t too grand. You’ve seen the living room. This here is the kitchen. Bathroom’s at the other end of the living room. Peri’s bedroom is by the bathroom. Office next to Peri's. Upstairs is my bedroom.”</p><p>“The entire second floor?” Mycroft’s eyes scanned the kitchen and living room, as if taking measurements.</p><p>“Basic cape house. Not even a dormered window upstairs.”</p><p>“A castle fit for a king,” Mycroft said.</p><p>“With a teeny-tiny kingdom.” Greg laughed as he popped the cork from the bottle.</p><p>“Still a kingdom.” </p><p>Greg poured the wine and handed Mycroft his glass. “We can eat the chili at any time. I’ve got fixings - sour cream, cheese, chives, and hot sauce in case you like it fiery.”</p><p>“I do have an appreciation for spice.”</p><p>Greg smiled. “Me too. But I didn’t make the chili too hot, not knowing your preferences.”</p><p>“I can take it,” Mycroft said, though he spoke the words as if trying the phrase out for the first time. He hid his awkwardness with a smile, and then dropped his eyes to the floor. “Oh, and who is this?” The gray tom sat at Mycroft’s ankles, casting suspicious glances between the two of them.</p><p>“Scratch. He came with the place.”</p><p>“Oh. Abandoned by the previous owner?” Mycroft didn’t bend to pet the cat though most people would have by now. </p><p>“In a way. He sort of adopted this house, and the previous owner was our old executive director. He told me Scratch never wanted to leave after he showed up one night. I didn’t ever really like cats, so I agreed to find him a new home. But...we sort of got stuck on each other.”</p><p>Scratch gave Mycroft another once-over, then stalked out of the kitchen with his tail high in the air.</p><p>“Sorry, are you allergic to cats or anything?”</p><p>“Mm. No, I’m not. Just unused to them, I suppose.”</p><p>“You don’t have any pets, then?”</p><p>“I travel quite a bit for work.” </p><p>“Ah.” Greg lifted the lid to the slow cooker. The bean chili simmered as the hot steam unfurled in the air, and the odors of cooked spices and veggies filled Greg’s nose. “Shall we dig in?”</p><p>“That smells heavenly, my mouth is absolutely watering. Let’s.”</p><p>Greg ran his tongue across his upper palate. His mouth watered, too, and it wasn’t just for chili. <em> It’s not just the accent, is it? Sherlock has an accent, and though he’s good looking enough, I don’t find him attractive. </em> “The bowls are in the cabinet there. Let me get out the other stuff.”</p><p>The two of them spread the bowls on the counter, along with the toppings and the silverware. The kitchen was tiny, just enough for two people to move around in, but only if they didn’t mind brushing against one another, pausing at one cabinet while waiting for the other to get by. </p><p>Greg didn’t mind. </p><p>“Okay,” he said as he spooned out the chili into the bowls. “Fresh shredded cheese, sour cream from the local dairy, chives from the backyard -”</p><p>“You grew them?”</p><p>“Nah, Mother Nature did. It’s a wild onion that sprouts in a lot of places. Molly could give you the Latin name.”</p><p>Mycroft seemed to regard the green spikes with horror. </p><p>“I promise I washed them first,” Greg said with a guffaw. </p><p>Mycroft schooled his features back to normal. “I’m sure they’re excellent.”</p><p>“Where do you get your food from? Is it all hydroponically grown in a sterile environment?” </p><p>At this, Mycroft chuckled. “Indeed. Then it’s sanitised often to within an inch of its last bit of flavor.”</p><p>“That’s how I describe grocery store tomatoes. Or strawberries. That winery does pick-your-own strawberries in the summertime, and it’s eye-opening. Eating one of those strawberries is how I imagine walking through the gates of heaven.” Greg plopped a dollop of sour cream on his chili. “But buying from the grocery store? There’s barely a suggestion of strawberry flavor.”</p><p>“Mm. I suppose you’re right.”</p><p>“I am. Just wait until strawberry season. I’ll show you.” Greg flashed him a grin and sprinkled cheese over his meal, followed by the chives. He noticed Mycroft skipped the sour cream and the cheese, but he did add hot sauce and chives. <em> Dairy allergy, maybe? </em></p><p>
  <em> Shit, I got ice cream for dessert. </em>
</p><p>“I, uh, got some ice cream for dessert.”</p><p>Mycroft smiled benignly at Greg. “Thank you, but I don’t eat much ice cream. I’ll have only a bit.”</p><p><em> Hm. </em> “Suit yourself; it’s excellent.” <em> I won’t pry - he’ll tell me if he wants to. </em></p><p>They sat themselves on Greg’s sofa. Greg glanced at Mycroft as he took his first bite. He sat straight-backed on the cushion, brought the spoon to his mouth with a small portion of food, and inhaled the fragrance. Then he slid the spoon between his lips and closed his eyes. Upon removing the spoon from his mouth, he moaned, swallowed, and licked his lips. Greg’s eyes zeroed in on the bob of the man’s adam's apple. “Greg, this is quite good. If anything, Miss Hooper undersold your cooking.”</p><p>“Ha, thanks, but don’t let Molly hear you call her that. If anything, it’s Doctor Hooper.”</p><p>“Oh, what is her doctorate in?”</p><p>“Horticulture, I think.”</p><p>“She seems wonderfully accomplished.”</p><p>“Yeah, she’s good at what she does. She also does taxidermy.”</p><p>Mycroft’s eyes widened at that. “Well, and don’t take this the wrong way, but the world does take all sorts.”</p><p>Greg burst into a roar of laughter, chili spraying from his mouth into his bowl, and some into his lap. His face reddened, and he swallowed what was left in his mouth as he grabbed his napkins and began dabbing at the lost bits on his jeans. “Oh Jesus, you must think I’m some sort of savage.” He coughed and his eyes smarted with tears. “Please excuse me.”</p><p>Mycroft was laughing, that low polite chortling of his. “I do apologize for having made you laugh. Are you quite alright?”</p><p>“I will be.” Greg placed his bowl on the coffee table as an embarrassed flush continued to crawl across his face. “Just let me get a little water on these jeans.” He hopped up to dart to the kitchen. As he did, he knocked into the glass of wine on the table, and sent its contents splattering across the rug. “Oh shit!”</p><p>“Oh goodness,” he heard Mycroft say as he crouched to pick up the glass and set it upright on the table. “Can I help?”</p><p>“I got it, I got it.” He dabbed the wet spot with his napkin. “Just let me get a paper towel.”</p><p>He snuck a look at Mycroft, to see the man was silent and shaking, his hand over his mouth, his eyes crinkled with joy. Greg threw the napkin down on the spot, and just let out a nervous laugh. “I’m a total klutz tonight. I’m not usually like this.”</p><p>“Please, don’t apologize. It’s been quite some time since I’ve had this good a laugh. And, it’s not entirely at your expense, I promise you.” Mycroft wiped his mouth with his napkin. </p><p>Greg’s tension melted from his shoulders and he laughed more easily. “Uh-huh. And just who else’s expense is there to laugh at?”</p><p>Mycroft’s eyes twinkled at that, and he took another bite of the chili.</p><p>“I still have to clean these pants, and I need to get myself another glass of wine. I’ll bring the bottle in here for us.”</p><p>In the kitchen he wet the stains on his jeans, and blotted away what he could. He grabbed the bottle on the way back into the living room.</p><p>“You know, in England, ‘pants’ mean something else.”</p><p>“Oh?” Greg retrieved the wet napkin from the floor and set it on the table. “What?”</p><p>“Well, in the US you mostly refer to it as underwear, boxers, briefs, et cetera.”</p><p>“Really?” Greg laughed. “Uh, then what do you call pants?”</p><p>“Trousers.” Mycroft took another dainty bite of the chili. </p><p>“Hm. I wonder what else differs.”</p><p>Mycroft slid a look at him. “I suppose we’ll come across it as we go.” He said it in a nonchalant way that suggested to Greg he was speaking as if their association was assured, and this was simply a bit of ground to cover. In one way, Greg liked it. In another, he wondered how Mycroft could be so confident. And in yet another, Greg was reminded of a business partnership rather than a friendship, or a potential romance.</p><p>
  <em> Not romance. Remember, this is supposed to be a fling. A long-term fling. An end of spring and throughout the summer fling. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What the fuck am I doing? </em>
</p><p>“Yeah.” Greg spooned some chili into his mouth. He saw Scratch watching the two of them from beneath the coffee table. Sometimes Greg gave him a bit of his own food. Scratch’s expression was expectant. </p><p>It was a good distraction from his thoughts.</p><p>They finished their meal with light conversation centered on popular dishes in America and in England. Mycroft professed a fondness for curries, which Greg tucked away in his mental file for the future.</p><p>Once they'd scraped the bottoms of their dishes, Greg took Mycroft’s bowl and spoon. “Let me just do the washing -” </p><p>“Oh no, please, you cooked, I can clean -” </p><p>“Please, you’re my guest. Pour yourself another glass of that wine and relax a moment.”</p><p>Greg rinsed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. When he returned to the living room, Mycroft was standing and looking at the photos on the wall. The family photos of Peregrine, Jordana, and himself. Several of just him and Peregrine. A photo of him and Damien at the Point in Cape Cod, photos of him and the High Point Nature Preserve staff at the annual BBQ. </p><p>“How old is Peregrine?”</p><p>Greg offered him the last bit of wine. “Fifteen. I can hardly believe it.”</p><p>“She must be remarkable.”</p><p>“She’s amazing,” Greg said as he swelled with an infatuated sense of pride. “I mean, she’s too cool for her dad now. But she’s smart, and she’s funny. She has this YouTube channel that she and her friend run, and they have a lot of subscribers. She’s a gamer. They review games, and they do it in a way that’s really entertaining.”</p><p>“Mm. That sounds clever.” He took a sip of his wine. “And your...ex-wife? It seems the two of you get on quite well.”</p><p>Greg laughed. <em> Here it is. </em>The thing Greg was proudest of in his life was his daughter. But the way she came about wasn’t his best moment.</p><p>But it was what it was.</p><p>
  <em> Best just plow ahead. </em>
</p><p>“We never married,” he said as he ran his hand back in his hair. “Um, it wasn’t like that.”</p><p>“Oh? Of course, it isn’t my business -”</p><p>“No. It’s fine. I always feel a little silly about it. But, the end result was Peri, so I wouldn’t change it for the world.” He gave Mycroft a sheepish grin. “It was one of those things...Jo and I were good friends, and we flirted with one another, but it was harmless, you know? Nothing serious.” He lifted his shoulders as he said, “I’m gay.” His shoulders fell as he continued. “We just got stupid drunk one night, and Jo asked me if I had ever wanted to sleep with a woman, and I said no, and then she told me about when she once tried sleeping with a woman just to see what it was like. Then we kissed and one thing led to another… That’s probably TMI, but it’s - it’s how it happened.”</p><p>Mycroft’s face didn’t show any shock or judgment. He lifted one brow. “A single night’s indulgence, then?”</p><p>“Something like that.” <em> Should I mention the drugs? </em> “I love Jo. She’s my best friend. But, I’m not sexually attracted to her...despite the one night. It was stupid. But, I got Peri out of it, and in a way, it was the best thing ever.” Greg scratched at the stubble on his chin. “I mean, I guess the other thing I should say is that we were both high at the time, too. I had graduated college, and I had just started at the Preserve on a part time basis, and I was bartending otherwise, to make ends meet. But, I was doing a lot of stupid stuff. Jo getting pregnant was like a smack  in the face. And, I needed it at the time.” Greg stared at the photo of a young Peri holding her parents’ hands. “It was exactly what we both needed. Though, her family wasn’t too happy about it. Neither was mine. But Peregrine was worth all the drama.”</p><p>“Hm.” Mycroft seemed lost in thought. He hadn’t moved during Greg’s story, and the wine was clasped in his hand as if in a vise.</p><p>
  <em> Shit. Have I got it all wrong? Is Mycroft uncomfortable now? That was totally oversharing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Oh shit, what if he’s uncomfortable because I’m gay? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Fuck. </em>
</p><p>Greg noted the ring on Mycroft’s finger. Again. The band shone in the lamp light. “So, uh, you married?”</p><p>Mycroft broke from his pondering. “Pardon?”</p><p>Greg pointed to the wedding band.</p><p>“Oh, no. Not married.” Mycroft cleared his throat. “I am also gay.”</p><p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p><p>It was like a weight had lifted and then been dropped right back on top of Greg. Shit. Mycroft had told him he was gay, and what was Greg supposed to do with that information? Was he expecting Greg to come onto him? That’s what they were both here for, right? Weren’t they just looking for that confirmation from each other all along? </p><p>
  <em> What am I waiting for? Make a move! </em>
</p><p>“Greg, I must thank you for a wonderful evening.” Mycroft turned and walked to the kitchen.</p><p>
  <em> What? </em>
</p><p>“Oh, I...I didn’t realize you’d need to leave early.” <em> What the fuck is happening? </em> “I hope the chili was good enough for you, and I, uh...got ice cream...but, oh yeah, you don’t eat ice cream.” Greg said all this as he watched Mycroft set his glass on the kitchen counter and then walked back out to the coat rack to retrieve his overcoat. Greg followed him to the door.</p><p>He turned to Greg. “You’ve been a consummate host. I had an excellent time, but I have to work early in the morning, I fear.”</p><p>“Oh.” <em> On a Sunday? What the fuck? </em></p><p>Mycroft paused in the middle of buttoning his coat. “Greg, I, um, do hope we can do this again.” His face seemed pink in the lamplight.</p><p>“Uh, yeah. Me too.” Greg swallowed. <em> Just say it. </em> “I really enjoyed tonight. I’d like to do it again.”</p><p>Mycroft smiled at that. “Well. That’s excellent. Thank you for the meal, and for the conversation.”</p><p>“Anytime, Mycroft. I mean that.” Greg’s heart hammered. <em> Please know I mean that. </em> “Can I call you this week?” <em> Was this a date? </em></p><p>“Please do. Perhaps we could text?”</p><p>“Yes. Let’s do that.” Greg nodded so hard he felt like his brain might suffer a hit against his skull. </p><p>“Wonderful.” The smile on his face was no longer nervous. He was neutral again, as if he’d receded like a turtle into its shell.</p><p><em> No. Show me you again. </em> “Well, goodnight. Drive safe.”</p><p>“Yes. Thank you. Goodnight.”</p><p>Like that, the door shut behind him, but not before a chilly gust of wind dashed into the house, and Greg shivered with cold.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. An Old Man Turtle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello All, if you haven't seen it already, I've been posting a story for #MystradeIsMagic. The last chapter goes up this weekend: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100480/chapters/58013368">A Song for a Siren</a>. The collection holds other amazing works as well, so be sure to check it out! &lt;3</p><p>Also, I have to give another round of applause to my betas, hippocrates460 and notjustmom. This is a long piece, and they have been patiently and diligently beta-ing each chapter. Thank you so much! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>In the United States, there are three major plants that make people nervous: poison ivy, poison sumac, and poison oak. (You should probably all look up hogweed, though, and make yourself familiar with that doozy of a plant.) </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In New England, poison ivy is common in backyards and woodlands. Often, when people notice it in the backyard, the immediate response is a campaign in eradication without thought for how it impacts the local ecology. Over seventy species of birds eat the berries of poison ivy. It provides nectar and pollen for bees, ants, and wasps. White-tailed deer, black bear, and raccoons eat the leaves, berries, and stems. It acts as a host plant for fifteen species of butterflies and moths in the US. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Obviously, if it’s in your cultivated garden or on a tree meant for kids to climb, remove it. But it has a job to do in nature, just like everything else. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>On top of that, many people can’t identify it correctly. “Leaves of three, let it be,” is the rhyme we use to caution children against touching triple-leafed plants. That’s all well and good, but when it comes to eradication, you might not actually have poison ivy. It could be box elder. Hog peanut. Trillium. Jack-in-the-pulpit. Young virginia creeper. Fragrant sumac. Blackberry or raspberry. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The world is full of nuance. Sometimes the villain in our story is the hero in another. Sometimes, that three leafed plant in the backyard is best left there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The filtered light of the room was oatmeal colored - the sun had risen and the sky was clear. Greg focused on his bedside clock. Six-forty-nine a.m. Scratch meowed from the bottom of the stairs, begging for his breakfast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A roiling tumble of thoughts and feelings about the night before washed through him. Confusion. Humiliation. Loss. Anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed to talk to someone. Molly preferred to sleep in, so he grabbed his phone from the charger and texted Jo instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have no idea what happened last</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>night but he ran out of here right</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>after i told him i was gay and he </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>told me he was gay too</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was only about five minutes before Jo responded. In the meantime, Greg ran the scenario over and over in his mind. Again. Nothing different from his fitful night. Wondering if he should have said anything about being gay. Or maybe Mycroft was in the closet? Maybe he should have moved faster. Or slower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wutttt??? Tell me what happened</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg gave her the rundown of the events, every last bit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe he’s nervous? Or</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>maybe he’s got someone back</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>in England?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But he said he wasn’t married</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and he’s staying here thru the summer?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Y not ask Sherlock?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sherlock is not the master of subtlety</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and i get the sense he doesn’t like</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mycroft</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I dont want Mycroft to know that i’m </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>asking about him, you know?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So wut ur telling me is that u had </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>an opportunity to make a move and u</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>waited too long and he ran out</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He ran before I could make a move!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>False. I know u. Ur slow now. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg banged his head against his pillow as he dropped his phone on his chest with a thwack, and let his hands flop to his sides. It vibrated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Like an old man turtle.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg huffed and the air popped up his fringe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s leaving anyway. This isn’t supposed</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>to be hard. It’s supposed to be fun and </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>easy. Just a fling, right? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I think ur overthinking it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If it happens, it happens. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Though, remember u have to do </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>some of the work too lol</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks a lot</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anytime ;-D</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg stretched his arms over his head. He’d had dreams, now just a blur and a general sense of...waiting? Anticipation? He’d wanted...and he'd gotten. Oh, that was it. He’d dreamt of long, pale limbs and a milky white throat, a flush of cock - and Greg could guess who’s it was. What would Mycroft’s cock look like in reality? He was tall, fair-skinned, and slender, but his cock could be thick and long, would the veins be obvious or only seen up close? Would the head purple with blood or would the skin there match the rest of his body?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would his pubic hair be reddish, or dark?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s morning wood hadn’t gone away, and now it was so hard Greg thought he could flip over and do push-ups without using his hands. He slid his hands down the flanks of his torso, slid them beneath the waistband of his boxers and squeezed the flesh of his inner thigh, the knuckles of his forefingers brushing against his balls. His cock lay heavy on his lower belly, thick with blood. He stroked his right hand up the length of it, and ran a finger over the slit, spreading the moisture over the flare of the glans. He sighed with satisfaction as he began making lazy pulls along the shaft, and moved his left hand over to stroke his balls. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God this is so</span>
  </em>
  <span> wrong. The feelings in his chest spooled with a mix of embarrassment and frustration over the night before. This, this would probably be as close as he'd get to Mycroft, though, and if he needed to get off, he was going to do it with what worked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, fuck, Mycroft…” Images of Mycroft’s face, mouth open, eyes closed, that mouth. Greg pretended it was Mycroft’s hand that touched his scrotum, and Mycroft’s mouth licking up his dick in place of Greg’s fingers. “Just like that…oh, fuck…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As tension pooled in his pelvis, he thrust his hips up, slow and languorous. His cock leaked and made it easier to jerk himself faster. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mmm, Mycroft’s mouth would be so good on my dick, I’d be gentle at first, I’d fuck into his mouth nice and slow - wonder how far he could take it? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Jesus Christ…” His hips went faster and fucked up into his fist. It was a little dry, but Greg was too far gone to pause for lube now. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. But…</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was going to make himself pause. He reached for the pump of lube at his bedside, pushed it, felt a dollop land on his fingers, and rubbed the stuff all over his first two fingers. He reached down with his left hand to below his balls and rubbed around the ring of his entrance. Would Mycroft be down to fuck? Would he want to do the fucking or would he want to get fucked? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet you’d fuck me if I asked,” Greg said as he slid his forefinger into his ass. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, that cock, I bet he’d dick me out if I begged him for it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Oh, ah, ah, ah…” He added a second finger and fucked himself, stretching his hole around the girth of his fore and middle fingers. Images of Mycroft leaning over him rolled through his mind, his legs lifted up onto Mycroft’s shoulders, Mycroft snapping his hips into Greg’s ass, so full -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck!” Fireworks of white flashed behind his eyelids as the tension in his groin exploded and his cock shot jets of come across his belly, his hand still pulling as he milked every last stream. “Oh fuck,” he exhaled. One last spurt, and his body went limp. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is better than yoga.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha. Stress release.” He chuckled to himself as he sat up and reached for the tissues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scratch meowed again from the bottom of the stairs, and Greg flushed with guilt.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the weekend again. Peregrine sat in the passenger seat with her nose dipped toward her phone. She didn’t so much as glance his way as he settled into the driver’s seat and buckled up. “Is that Kayla?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Naw, it’s Marcus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah. The boy having the summer pool party?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think you two were friends.” Greg said, remembering how Peregrine had downplayed who was having the pool party in favor of the fact that it was a pool party. He slid the key into the ignition and silently cheered when it roared to life. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Probably only one more winter to go.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Peregrine was looking at him. “Dad, he’s fine. I like him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>As in…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kayla just texted me. Oh my god! She says her sister’s coming back from college in three weeks!” Peregrine screeched and typed with a flurry of fingers on her phone. “Wow, you get out so early in college.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you thinking about colleges?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri answered with a noncommittal jerk of her shoulders. She kept typing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s Kayla’s sister’s name again?” Greg eased the car out of the driveway and onto the road toward Jo’s parents’ house for the first BBQ of the season.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taylor.” Her face was lit by the screen of the phone. He went back to focusing on the road and let his thoughts wander.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly had been having her digs at him all week long about his Failed Date. But he was more hopeful about things now - Mycroft had been texting him all week long, too. It started with a shared article on the uncommon appearance of the red headed woodpecker in Connecticut, followed by some funny stories and comics, to a serious discussion on cats and their impact on songbird populations. Scratch was an indoor cat only, and Greg talked about ways he kept Scratch happy to stay that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all surface, but it was a shared interest, there was humor, and that meant the line was still open between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad? What are you thinking about?” Peri’s annoyed tone registered with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh? Uh, just, stuff. I heard the barred owls this past week. So, I’m sure they’re back in the nest.” The owl pair met in the woods outside the nature center and nested in the same dead tree every spring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awww, do you think you’ll see the babies again this year?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg smiled. The wide-eyed owlets were fluffy balls of awkwardness before they grew their adult plumage and learned to fly. “Hope to. Do you want to visit them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, but when they’re older and we might see them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” He’d invited Mycroft to do the same. Mycroft had sounded delighted at the prospect. And he was going to tell Jo about it tonight. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Another...not-date. But, still, we’ll see each other!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad. You’ve got some weird, dopey look on your face and you’re freaking me out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg grinned. “So sorry, kiddo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dad.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oops. Peri.” He stuck his tongue out at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Real mature.” She rolled her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, keep rolling your eyes like that and one day they’ll get stuck, and you’ll just be this weird girl with white eyes. Creepy.” Greg exaggerated a shudder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god.” She turned toward the window, showing him her shoulder, head bent over her phone.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg sat at one of the kitchen stools with a beer in hand. Jo’s Haitian grandmother, Marie, sat beside him. Her steel grey hair sat in a bun on her neck, and she wore a colorful blouse and big, beaded jewelry. She barked orders at Jo’s mom, Odette, as Odette and her husband Laurence tried to get everything ready for dinner. Marie liked to direct them as she waved about her cocktail made of rum and juice, chattering in a mix of English and Haitian Creole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kitchen was large, painted mostly white, with buttery yellow curtains on the windows. Sliding glass doors lead out to the deck. Stone tiles covered the floor, and the giant island in the middle was the center of their activity - Odette and Laurence making side dishes on one side, Marie and Greg ensconced in stools on the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo and Marcus could be seen through the windows at the grill, talking with Jo’s sisters, Esther and Mirlande. Mirlande’s husband, Hal, was in the yard playing kickball with the kids, Peri included. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Greg, Jo says you might have met someone.” Odette was tossing together salad ingredients. She shared Jordana’s pretty looks, and her skin was darker, a beautiful near-ebony hue, much like Marie. Laurence was a tall man with sharper features and light brown skin.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this?” Marie said and leaned toward Greg with an expectant look in her eye. “Man or woman?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maman!” Odette held up the wooden salad spoon as if in warning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, I can’t ask?” Marie’s thick accent softened her shrill response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg blushed. “Uh, it’s a man, and I’m not sure it’ll go anywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to find yourself someone, like Marcus.” Odette turned to grab some spices from the cabinet. “Now there’s a good man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something in his gut tugged at him. He knew they didn’t mean it as a barb - at least, not anymore. They’d been understandably upset and confused when Jo explained to them that Greg was gay and there wouldn’t be a wedding or any kind of future for them as nothing but friends and coparents. He can still remember it: their eyes on him, Jo explaining the nature of their friendship. Laurence stalked the length of the room, Odette cried, Marie muttered in Creole. Michel, her brother, still lived at home and he was peeking around the corner of the door, eyes wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now they were over the moon that Jordana seemed to have set her eyes on a “gentleman with a job” as Odette put it the last time he visited, who was also “a strong black brother” - Laurence’s words - and “handsome and likes women” as Marie liked to say. He didn’t mind it so much - it was better than when Marie used to just refer to him as “the white boy,” but something still bothered him, like water wearing away at loose stone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marcus is perfect for Jo,” he forced out and slugged down the beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is.” Odette beamed as she mixed together the salad dressing. “Laurence, what time is it?” She knocked over a jar of spices and it clattered to the floor. “Oh! Good thing that was closed! I’m so nervous about tonight!” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Greg searched each of their faces. Marie was scolding Odette for her clumsiness, though there was warmth to it, and Laurence gave Odette a kiss on the temple as he handed the spice jar to her. “Be calm, lovebug,” he said. “All is going well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why do I have the feeling that something is going on and I am the last person to know?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So who is this person? Why is it not going anywhere?” Marie’s voice punctured his thought bubble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just...well, he’s from England, and he goes back to England at the end of the summer.” He was aware of Laurence’s eyes on him as he answered the question. Laurence and he had come to an understanding some years ago. He’d told Greg that he was an excellent father and a great support to Jo. That he’d had misgivings early on, but as far as he was concerned, Greg was part of the family now. It was followed up by a handshake and a slap on the shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. That’s no good, no good. Why don’t you try the internet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ma, Greg knows about the internet. He doesn’t need you to tell him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, he’s doing something wrong!” Marie winked at him. “Needs a little kick in the pants, probably. Waste of flesh, a man like him and no one to appreciate him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s cheeks colored again and he took another swallow of his beer, which was starting to warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quit embarrassing him. Let’s go out now.” Odette grabbed the salad dish and the dressing. “Greg, you grab the potatoes. Laurence, help Marcus at the grill. It’s time to serve up, and it’s almost time for tonight’s special -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush, woman. You never know who’s listening.” Laurence’s smile was soft as he gave his wife a meaningful look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bewildered, Greg placed his beer on the table and grabbed the bowl of baked potatoes. He’d find out soon enough what the buzz was about.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dinner!” Odette’s voice rang across the yard. A gaggle of teens and children came running, along with Peri’s uncles Hal and Michel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yo Greg,” Michel said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yo Greg?” Jo parroted. Michel was the youngest of the Smith bunch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michel rolled his eyes and grabbed a plate to start serving himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a tussle over plates and dishes as Esther and Mirlande patrolled their kids - Mirlande and Hal had two about ages 9 and 7, while Esther’s were 15 and 13. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri stood next to Marcus and whispered something in his ear. Marcus smiled and nodded, and Peri grinned a bright, high-wattage grin in return. The back of Greg's neck prickled as his stomach churned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is good. He might end up being her stepfather someday, and it’s good for them to get along.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo was beside him. “Hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, Jo. I can’t believe you told them about Mycroft,” he said in a whispered rush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Well...they asked and I said there might be someone but that nothing was clear yet?” Her eyes flashed with humor. “I should have known better. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Secrets? Anything we want to share with the group?” Esther’s voice grated across Greg’s eardrums. She was the sister who never forgave Greg for “leaving Jo as a single parent.” It got worse after her divorce three years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of your business, Es.” Jo’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as she reached forward and grabbed a plate. “How’s dating?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Esther’s face twisted with annoyance. “Like I have time to date what with raising two teens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. Uh-huh.” Jo’s eyes slid toward Marcus and then to Greg. She smirked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ladies, please, family comes first.” Marie’s scolding tone seemed most directed at Jo. Greg got the message loud and clear. Jo was supposed to be good to Esther, no matter how much she tried to get under Greg’s skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg grabbed his plate and stood in the line of people scrambling for food. His eyes followed Odette, who fussed over having plenty of napkins and forks. Laurence and Marcus stood beside each other at the end of the buffet of food, Marcus placing the plate of steaks, beef burgers (and Greg’s veggie burger) on the table. Laurence patted him on the shoulder and handed him a beer. The camaraderie between the two men was palpable. Marcus and Laurence watched basketball and football together. Marcus and Jo were regulars at the Sunday dinner table. Marcus fit in well here, whereas Greg had always felt as if he were holding on at the fringes, guaranteed a spot at the corner of the table if only because he’d fathered a child related to this brood.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus Christ. It’s not actually like that. You’ve been a welcome guest in their house for fifteen years now. And more than a guest. They’ve treated you like family.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You just had to try harder to earn it than Marcus did.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He clamped down on these thoughts and focused on getting himself some potatoes and salad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here’s your veggie burger, Greg,” Marcus said as he plopped it onto his plate. “Wanted to make sure you got it. It’s such a big hit around these parts.” The accompanying wink made Greg’s shoulders tense. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jackass.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Marcus,” Greg said with a smile. He grabbed the ketchup and ignored the swoop in his stomach as Marcus went back to Laurence with a “and I’m saving that one for you, my man, the biggest steak on the plate for the man of the house.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two picnic tables were set up, so he sat down next to Peregrine. “Hey, is it cool if I sit here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever,” she said as she dumped ketchup on her burger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg released all the air from his lungs. He drew in another breath, steadying himself before reaching for the condiments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over dinner, everyone was mostly jovial. Esther groused a bit about problems at her job, and a new girl at the hair salon. Mirlande interjected to put in a good word for the girl. Hair was a big topic at the Smith family table, and Greg stayed out of it, though he learned enough about it to help Peri with hers when she was younger. Odette was in good spirits, and Laurence had to hush her a bit at one point. Jo rolled her eyes and snarked at Esther. It was the same sort of mealtime they always had when they all got together, though Greg swore the atmosphere seemed...anticipatory, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When everyone was finished, Esther helped her mother and father with getting all the dishes in. Everyone’s drinks were refilled - beers for those having them, wine for those having that. Soda for the kids. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus stood. “Let’s have a toast!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All eyes went to him, and the buzz in the air intensified. Greg’s stomach twisted upon itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to make a toast to family. Especially this family, who has made me feel so welcome these past two years.” He placed a hand on Jo’s shoulder, and then swept his gaze across the table, skipping Greg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to raise a glass, or a bottle, to my beautiful Jordana, and to her beautiful daughter, Peri, who has been so welcoming to me, and allows me to spend time with her mama. Peri, thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg noticed Peri was grinning ear to ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh my god.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus placed his beer on the table. Greg guessed what he was doing, but his breath whooshed from his lungs anyway as Marcus dropped to one knee. Greg restrained his hand from flying to his face, his whole body icing over. Someone whooped. Excited giggles and gasps erupted around the tables.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo’s hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes glistened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jordana Smith, I have already sought the blessing of your father, who said yes,” Marcus tossed a smile toward Laurence, “and, your daughter.” Marcus and Jo both looked at Peri, whose face was still split in a grin, and her fists held up by her cheeks in the perfect picture of glee. “They both gave me their blessing. Jordana Smith, will you marry me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo reached out her hand to cup Marcus’ face. “Oh yes. Yes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cheers erupted from the tables, along with laughter and clapping and rushed talking. The roar in Greg’s ears didn’t lessen as he glanced around at expressions on faces. Marie dabbed her eyes with a napkin. Peri giggled beside Greg, vibrating with excitement. Odette and Laurence held hands as Jo and Marcus collapsed in a hug together on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s about time!” Mirlande said. “We knew you’d say yes. This silly man was talking to everyone, sweatin it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bottom dropped out from Greg’s stomach. He looked at Peri. Who’d known. The entire time. And Odette and Laurence knew. And Marie knew. And from what Mirlande said, she knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri’s eyes met his, still grinning. It slid off her face. “Dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m...just shocked,” he said. He realized how it sounded. “I can’t believe you kept that from me!” He forced a smile on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed desperately to be alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed to examine his feelings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri smiled again. “Isn’t it great?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg grinned, plastered. “You bet!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like a mannequin, he knew he was stiff, plastic, fake tan and too white teeth, he imagined. He made himself stand, made himself flesh again, watched as Jo released Marcus and began hugging her sisters and her mother and then her father. He felt the blood course through arteries and veins and capillaries, keeping his flesh warm as it does for every endothermic creature. He stood and walked around the table, Peri beside him, matching his every step, only two inches shorter than him, warm muscle and organs draped along a skeletal frame. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is not about you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He grinned so hard it hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo’s hazel eyes - </span>
  <em>
    <span>they look so green in this light</span>
  </em>
  <span> - swung to meet his, and she opened her arms, her grin dazzling across her face. Enveloped in her warmth, his heart hammered. He hoped she didn’t notice his veneer of felicitations. “I’m so happy for you,” he managed to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she whisper-cried in his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus stood behind her, his pride written across his face. His eyes met Greg’s, and he winked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for making her happy, Marcus,” Greg forced himself to say. Still grinning. Still holding Jo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you were in on this!” Jo pulled away from him to hug Peri. There was squealing as they held each other, some whispers. They rocked together, crushed together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg ignored whatever Marcus was saying. People were crowded around. He kept his eyes on his daughter and her mother, his best friend of seventeen years. The people here were her family. He’d, at times, thought he was welcome, thought himself a member of that family, but Marcus, by virtue of being straight and in love with Jordana, was more a member of this family than Greg ever would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept his back straight and his shoulders pulled down and back. He kept his grin on his face. When Jo and Peri parted, he didn’t know where else to look, so he stepped back, out of the crowd of Smiths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri had known, and said nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He realized Michel was standing next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michel glanced at him, his usually glum face alight with a small smile. “Well, yeah, everyone did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone did.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone did.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Except Greg. Who wasn’t part of everyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michel watched him. “You didn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I suppose that’s not what matters.” Greg caught Odette’s eye, who was beaming and grinning and looked like she’d won the lottery. He nodded to her, as one does when celebrating a loved one’s engagement. Odette wiped her eyes and clutched at her napkin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marie appeared beside him. “Now, you see, Greg? You need a partner. You need a happy day like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s breath caught. “Yeah. It’s great...isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michel was no longer paying attention, so Greg let some of the fake mirth slide from his face. “I hate to end this so soon, but I have to go to the bathroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marie’s eyes gleamed in the porchlight and she fanned herself with a napkin. Greg slipped away.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg shut the wooden door behind him. The room smelled of soap and pine cleaner. He put the lid down on the toilet and sat. Elbows on knees, head cradled in his hands as his heart thundered and his breathing echoed loud and heavy in his ears. A hot tide of shame filled him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck is wrong with me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew in a deep breath, thinking of yoga and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ujayyi</span>
  </em>
  <span> breathing, that bellows breath that was quiet on the in-breath but expelled in a soft roar on the out-breath. Fuck, if he could learn anything from their two years of family yoga classes, it was how to cut short a panic attack, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was this a panic attack? He didn’t feel like he was dying. Just, old and pathetic. Alone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Family yoga classes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Raising an amazing daughter with an equally amazing friend, and still feeling left out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He should be happy for Jo. And on some level, he was. Jo didn’t date for the first five years of Peregrine’s life, and then she went on the occasional date, but she never got serious with anyone until Marcus. Greg, meanwhile, had dated and fucked, and then met Jack and got serious within a handful of weeks, and then stayed with the man for five years. And yeah, that blew up like a wildfire devouring life across a dry prairie, but Jo had been with him through it all. She put up with Jack’s bullshit, even as over time, she admitted she liked him less and less. She helped to shield Peri from her dad’s anguish and his days of melancholy and worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, she’d found a man who she loved and who loved her and who treated her well, and Greg had locked himself in a bathroom to feel sorry for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri liked the guy, too. This was a good thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continued the </span>
  <em>
    <span>ujayyi</span>
  </em>
  <span> breathing. In. Out. In. Out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His best friend was getting married. His daughter liked her new stepfather. Everything would be fine. He just needed to get over himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get over yourself,” he whispered. He stood. Faced the toilet. Lifted the lid. Flushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He washed his hands at the sink with soap. Looked at the mirror at his reflection. Premature silver hair and deepened lines notwithstanding, he wasn’t that old. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t that old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t that old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew in another breath, affected a curve of his lips into a convincing smile, and opened the bathroom door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through the kitchen window, he could see Peregrine standing next to Marcus. Marcus wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her toward him and kissed the top of her head. Jo came up behind both of them and threw her arms around them, her mouth open with laughter.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Owls in Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Feathers are a fascinating piece of evolution - they evolved from the scales of reptiles. Scientists believe that the first reptiles with feathers found them useful for insulation, and as some feathers grew longer, species could glide. Over time, species could take to the sky and soar among the wind thermals. Of course, it helps that they have hollow bones and evacuate excess waste quickly, on top of developing strong chest muscles.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Also fascinating - how feathers have altered in different species for different traits. Owls, for one, are silent killers. The flapping of wings usually creates noise from the turbulence in the air, but not so much for owls despite their size and speed. The structure of their feathers aid in sound dampening - a twist in the end or a serrated, velvety edge gives the owl this advantage. After all, they depend on hearing their food, and finding their food before it sees them. Gliding almost noiselessly in the air often means the prey animal never even sees their death coming. A shock, a short struggle, and then the deep sleep. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg fiddled with his phone as he waited at the edge of the parking lot of the nature center. Against a tree out of view of the windows, no one on the Saturday shift had noticed him. The rain from the day before had already dried, and the sun was beaming bright. </p><p>It’d been a long week of busy school programs and meetings, and evenings filled with self pep talks. It was a relief to be off today. </p><p>And seeing Mycroft.</p><p>A text with an article on the adulterous mating habits of Eastern bluebirds had appeared on his phone on Monday, from Mycroft. Greg’d responded, and what followed was a funny conversation on various species and their overtures for a mate. Greg thought it was skating a bit close to their situation, but he pretended it was simply banter between two dudes being bros. </p><p>Mycroft might not be the answer to Greg’s longing for a lifetime partner, but he was here now. Even if they didn’t get involved sexually or romantically, he was an interesting guy and Greg had decided to content himself with being friends. Hopefully he could keep his attraction to himself.</p><p>They’d planned to meet here at 4 pm to see the barred owl nest. He’d checked it on two afternoons this week, and could see the striped face of the female peering out of the hollow of the tree through his binoculars. As it was May, the chicks would likely fledge soon. </p><p>He tapped his fingers against his thigh. A silver-grey Lexus, brand new and reflecting the blue color of the sky in its panels, pulled into the lot. He could see the outline of the driver through the passenger window. Aristocratic nose.</p><p>His smile bloomed as a thrill shivered through his body.</p><p>
  <em> Jesus Christ. Keep it down. </em>
</p><p>The driver side door of the Lexus opened, and Mycroft emerged. His hair glinted in the sun, a thread of golden red weft the dark brown. He wore his birding outfit - khaki pants and vest, a light green long sleeved shirt, and brown leather hiking boots. He looked good enough to eat. Again.</p><p>“Hey,” Greg called to him with a grin. Mycroft walked over to him. “Glad we could do this.”</p><p>“Yes, I too am glad.” The severe look of the man softened with his smile. “My thanks for your hospitality, Greg. It seems to know no bounds.”</p><p>“This is a pleasure for me.” They stood there for a moment, just watching one another. Thoughts of Mycroft practically running out of his house crowded Greg’s mind and he shifted his gaze toward the trailhead.</p><p>“This is wonderful weather today,” Mycroft said.</p><p>“Yeah, it is. Perfect. Why don’t we get started?” Greg started for the trail, Mycroft walking behind him.</p><p>“How did you find this nest?” Mycroft came abreast of him, which seemed easy on his long legs.</p><p>“Well, one day I was out walking, and I heard their call,” Greg said. Performing the different owl calls was always a fun part of the job. Mycroft startled beside him as Greg let out: “Hoo-hoo-hoo-HOO! Hoo-hoo-hoo-HOO-waaaa!” </p><p>“Their call?” Mycroft angled his shoulders toward Greg. “Astonishing.”</p><p>“One of my favorites, actually.” Greg said. He could talk about birds all day. Jack used to say he was bird-brained. He’d say it like it was a joke, but it was the kind of joke laced with criticism. “The mnemonic is ‘who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?”</p><p>“Splendid.” Mycroft seemed pleased, with a genuine smile and those soft crinkles around his eyes. </p><p>
  <em> He likes spending time with you. He likes what you like. </em>
</p><p>Friends. They were going to be friends.</p><p>“So, I uh, heard them calling to each other, and I knew it had to be the male and female. I headed in the direction of one of the calls. I was quiet, and slow, and steady. Then, I noticed this hollow about forty feet up in a tree.” It had been an early April day about two years before, and the trees hadn’t leafed out yet. The pale sliver of dead tree caught the sun’s light in the dappled wood. “I sat on this log nearby, and I waited. It only took about fifteen minutes, and she flew from the nest to a nearby branch.”</p><p>“Oh,” Mycroft breathed. “That must have been quite a sight.”</p><p>“It was. I was thrilled.” The sun warmed the top of Greg’s head and his shoulders. The lengthening daylight reminded him that summer was imminent. </p><p>“And you say it was about this time that you heard them?”</p><p>“Yeah. Barred owls are crepuscular. Means they’re awake and active in the dawn and dusk hours.”</p><p>Mycroft smiled, his hands clasped behind his back and his binoculars bouncing slightly on his chest. “Yes, I am familiar with the term.”</p><p>“Oh, sorry. Most people aren’t.” Greg said, abashed. </p><p>“No worries. Not everyone uses their brain.”</p><p>“I’d agree with that.” The woods closed around them, and they walked in the shade of the trees.</p><p>“We have trees similar to these.”</p><p>“Well, there’s a lot of oak, hickory, cherry, maple, and birch here. The occasional American sycamore. Plenty of American beech. In fact, the deer population here doesn’t find beech palatable, but they eat the seedlings of the other trees, so in the future, I imagine these woods will look differently.”</p><p>“Mm. Proliferated with beech?”</p><p>“And invasive plants, since deer don’t really eat them, either.”</p><p>“What eats the deer?”</p><p>“We’ve extirpated most of their predators, and really don’t hunt enough of them.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“It’s entirely changed the understory. Not only are we missing a diversity of trees, but the shrubs and plants that grow below them. That alters the food web, since we don’t have the pollinators and birds that we should have in a forest like this one.”</p><p>“I shall have to read more about this. You’ve shown me something of which I was not aware.”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s um...well, it can be a frustrating topic for some people. But, I think things like Molly’s program - planting native species in backyards - can really help rebuild the food web.” Greg stepped over a tree’s root that rose from the soil like a gnarled hand.</p><p>He turned to see Mycroft watching him, as if trying to figure something out about him. “What?”</p><p>“I admire your faith in the goodness of humankind.” </p><p>Greg laughed. “You don’t have any faith in people?” He started walking again, and Mycroft had no trouble keeping up.</p><p>“I have faith that people are frail and fallible.”</p><p>“Wow, well, that’s a little pessimistic.”</p><p>“I assure you my analysis is sound,” Mycroft said. </p><p>“Okay, then.” Greg ducked under a branch. <em> Gonna have to come back and trim that back from the trail. </em> “So, what do you do for work, anyway?”</p><p>“I am a civil servant. It’s a lot of analysis. And paperwork.”</p><p>“What sort of paperwork?”</p><p>Mycroft sighed. “It’s very boring and technical. Essentially, I act as a sort of accountant for the Crown.”</p><p>“Do you enjoy it?” Greg stepped carefully over some rocks. <em> Good thing the ground is dry. </em></p><p>“I excel at it.”</p><p>“That’s not the same.” </p><p>“I am good at what I do, and I do like to be good at what I do.”</p><p>“Alright, then.”</p><p>“I expect you do enjoy what you do?”</p><p>Greg slid his hands into his pockets and grinned at Mycroft over his shoulder. “Love it.” It was his pat answer and it was mostly true. </p><p>Mycroft stumbled over the rocks.</p><p>Greg swiveled to grab the man’s arm and prevent a complete tumble to the ground. The binoculars swung from his chest and slammed against an outcropping of the largest stone. Greg heard an awful, rippling pop. </p><p>“Oh bugger!” Mycroft leaned against Greg as they straightened up. He removed the binoculars from his neck and checked them over. “One of the lenses broke! I should have kept the end caps on.”</p><p>Greg was still trying to get over the phrase ‘oh bugger,’ but he sobered when he realized the binoculars had taken some damage. “Shit, let me see.”</p><p>Mycroft exhaled with frustration as he passed them to Greg. “I only recently purchased them.”</p><p>“Warranty?” Greg saw the crack across the right lens.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Good. You can use mine today.” He handed them back to Mycroft.</p><p>“Thank you, Greg. It looks as if I shall have to avail myself of your kindness once again.”</p><p>“No sweat.” Greg smiled. “Sorry that happened.”</p><p>“Not your fault,” Mycroft said as he placed the binoculars back around his neck. “I should have been watching where I stepped.”</p><p>“The path is mostly clear now. Just the occasional rough patch.”</p><p>“I shall endeavor to remain upright,” Mycroft said with a small smile.</p><p>“And I shall endeavor to catch you should you fall.” He hoped the warmth he felt in his cheeks didn’t appear as a blush. </p><p>Mycroft did blush. <em> That’s interesting. </em></p><p>“I would be most grateful,” Mycroft said, and began walking down the path.</p><p>Greg grinned, following after.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Okay, stand here, and look forty feet ahead of you. See the dead tree?”</p><p>“I do. Ah, yes, the cavity there twelve meters up?”</p><p>“That’s it.” Greg lifted his binoculars to his eyes, though he had no idea what twelve meters were in feet. The dark opening of the tree was empty. He checked his watch. “They’ve been active at about 4:30. It’s 4:25 now. Any moment.”</p><p>“I didn’t realize owls were so punctual.” Mycroft stood next to him, their shoulders nearly brushing together.</p><p>“These two are fairly punctual. I’m surprised myself, but I’m sure it has something to do with the sun.” Greg checked the view with the binoculars again. Nothing. “I’ll let you know as soon as I see something. Then you can have the binoculars.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Mycroft said. His voice was always so proper, so refined. It intimidated and impressed Greg all at once. He hid his smile behind the binoculars. </p><p>“Might we see the male?”</p><p>“Check the trees. I hope they’ll start calling to one another.”</p><p>“That would be delightful,” Mycroft said with a smile. It seemed like he was really enjoying himself. His face was lit up, and his eyes were soft, so soft that Greg felt like he could melt into them. It was lovely, and it made Greg feel almost...fragile. He wanted to make this man smile every day. </p><p>Which was just a ridiculous thought, and he needed to get control of himself.</p><p>He checked the hole in the tree again. As he did, the sound <em> hoo-hoo-hoo-HOO </em> carried through the trees. Greg lowered the binoculars as Mycroft grabbed his arm. “The male,” Greg whispered. Mycroft released him but Greg missed the weight of his hand immediately. He raised the binoculars to his eyes again, and sure enough, the female owl was peering over the edge, her pale face almost hidden in the shadow. “She’s there.”</p><p>Mycroft stood close to him, his head tilted slightly toward Greg. Greg passed him the binoculars without removing them from his neck. Mycroft peered through them. “Oh,” was all he said, with no small sense of wonder. Greg smiled so hard it almost hurt.</p><p>Mycroft looked over the binoculars for a moment, and then back through them. “Will she answer him?”</p><p>“Let’s wait and see.” </p><p>The two men paused. Waited. Then, <em> hoo-hoo-hoo-HOO. </em> </p><p>Greg could feel the vibration of the man beside him. “That was her!” Mycroft whispered excitedly.</p><p>They listened as the owls called back and forth to one another, the two men leaning close together so Mycroft could use Greg’s binoculars. Finally, Mycroft spoke again. “I’ve never been privileged to see an owl in the wild. I didn’t realize how wonderfully whimsical I might...feel about it.”</p><p>Greg answered with a nod and a grin. “It’s awesome.”</p><p>“Yes. In the true sense of that word.” Mycroft lowered the binoculars. The heat between them was unmistakable; tangible as if their very thoughts were sensate. Greg thought he could feel a shift in the understanding between them, that inborn sense of instinct and impulse and intuition. When Mycroft turned his face to Greg’s, Greg met him halfway. The kiss was sweet, warm, pleasant. Two pairs of lips pressed together, only a hint of moisture. Warmth at the tip of his ears and low in his belly. </p><p>When they parted, a patch of sun lit up Mycroft’s face. His blue eyes squinted, and his mouth twisted into a smile. Greg’s heart pounded. </p><p>“That was nice,” he said in a soft voice, not wanting the moment to end.</p><p>Mycroft chuckled. “Is that all?”</p><p>“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Greg admitted. </p><p>“I know,” Mycroft’s eyes glinted. </p><p>“Can we do it again?”</p><p>Mycroft’s breath hitched. “Yes.”</p><p>The second kiss was just as thrilling and soft as the first. Heat curled in Greg’s belly while joy hammered in his heart. It became a series of kisses, tender lipping and gentle sounds. Greg took the binoculars from Mcroft’s hands so they could lay gently on his chest, and he slid his arms around the man’s back. Mycroft’s arms slid around his waist. They pressed their bodies together, stopped only by the clinking of their binoculars against each other, which made them pause in their kissing and share a bit of laughter. Greg slid his pair behind him, so they hung between his shoulder blades. Mycroft followed suit.</p><p>The kiss deepened with open mouths and the meeting of tongues. Greg’s cock moved, but he ignored it. The kiss was exciting, and sweet. One of the sweetest first kisses he’d ever experienced in his life.</p><p>He loved kissing this man. </p><p>This could become addictive.</p><p>
  <em> Jesus Christ, this is perfect. </em>
</p><p>Mycroft made a breathy noise, and Greg pulled back to look at him. His eyes were heavy lidded, and a light flush colored his cheeks. “God, you’re gorgeous.”</p><p>The flush deepened. “The US should consider weaponizing your charm, Greg. You are most disarming.”</p><p>Greg threw his head back and laughed, his arms around Mycroft’s shoulders. “Would you like to come back to my place for dinner?”</p><p>Mycroft averted his eyes. “I regret that I’ve made other plans for dinner.”</p><p>“Oh,” Greg said. <em> With who? </em></p><p>“If I’d predicted this occurrence, I wouldn’t have committed myself.” Mycroft pulled out of the embrace. </p><p>“But...you don’t mind that it happened, do you?”</p><p>Mycroft met his gaze, and then cast his eyes to the ground. He fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. “I would be lying if I said I wasn't pleased with this outcome.”</p><p>“O-kay.” <em> Don’t get defensive. Maybe he’s nervous. </em> “This can be what you want it to be. I like you. I’m interested. I’m sure you got that during our kissing.”</p><p>Mycroft flushed again and smiled, still looking at the ground. </p><p>“So, if it’s just friends, let me know, and I won’t hit on you. Though it'll be hard, I can do it,” Greg hid his nervousness with a laugh. “And uh, if you want more, I’d like that, too. It doesn’t - it doesn’t have to be serious. I mean, you live in England and I live here. But, it might be fun for a summer, don’t you think?”</p><p>“A summer fling, then?” Mycroft tipped his head back, though he clipped out the words as if tasting them with some scrutiny. </p><p>“I’m just saying I won’t ask too much of you,” Greg said in a quiet voice. <em>After all, who knows who might be waiting for you at home. Probably have your pick of the men there.</em> <em>Wait, is there someone specific?</em> “Unless you have a boyfriend. I’m not looking to complicate things for anyone.”</p><p>Mycroft snickered. “Good Lord, no. No boyfriend.” This time he spoke as if the words were distasteful.  </p><p>
  <em> Oh. So. Maybe he’s not the type for commitment.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> All the better for this arrangement, then, right? </em>
</p><p>Greg smiled. “Well, I’m feeling a little exposed. But, I think you like me, too.”</p><p>Mycroft finally met his gaze. “It seems I do.” His smile was still small, but he seemed certain.</p><p>“I can work with that,” Greg grinned. “Why don’t I walk you to your car. I think we should have dinner later this week. We can also come back here in a couple weekends. It’ll be time for the chicks to fledge, then.”</p><p>Mycroft licked his lips and looked to the tree where the owl nest lay. “I look forward to it.” The smile was still there.</p><p>
  <em> Okay. You can work with this. He’s a little reserved. Maybe it’s an English thing.  </em>
</p><p>Greg adjusted his binoculars so that they lay on his chest again. Mycroft did the same. </p><p>They headed back down the trail, side by side, shoulders bumping on occasion. Greg’s stomach whirled like a dervish and he was sure his face blared his happiness like a klaxon. Mycroft was quieter, but he seemed pleased. </p><p>“If you don’t mind my asking,” he said in a quiet voice, “but was there any particular reason why you left so suddenly the other night?”</p><p>“I apologize, Greg. I am...not an easy man,” Mycroft said. “I wonder at the wisdom of our...arrangement. I needed time to think.”</p><p><em> O-kay. </em> He didn’t know what to say.</p><p>Mycroft didn’t say anything else. Greg decided not to push.</p><p>When they reached Mycroft’s car, Greg faced Mycroft.</p><p>Mycroft tipped his chin up slightly and raised one eyebrow. “Again?”</p><p>“Am I that obvious?” Greg couldn’t help his grin.</p><p>“It is a pleasure to be the object of your interest.” Mycroft stepped closer. They slid into an embrace, kissing with hungry mouths and muted hums. </p><p>Eventually, Greg had to stop. “Most everyone has left already, but if I get caught kissing someone in the parking lot like this, I’ll never hear the end of it.”</p><p>Mycroft chuckled low in his ear. “Most unfortunate. I am regretful about this dinner.”</p><p>“You can make it up to me.”</p><p>Mycroft stepped back and fished his keys from his pocket. “Yes. Hold me to it.”</p><p>“I will,” Greg said and winked at him. “Goodnight, Mycroft.”</p><p>Mycroft opened his car door, his eyes still holding Greg’s. “Goodnight.”</p><p>Greg headed for the trail that led to his house, his body feeling unbelievably light, as if he might sprout wings and fly, as silent and as light as the owl.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Barred owls are a populous species in the northeast US and moving westward. One of the most common owl sightings! And their call is very distinctive. I personally love it - it gives me chills. It might creep some people out. Check it out on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gc_74hiXsVU">YouTube</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Wings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for your comments and kudos. They mean so much to me. ❤️</p><p>(Also, thank you for sharing your stories of your natural experiences!)</p><p>Also, do check out the gorgeous cover bluebellofbakerstreet created for this fic! Link at the end!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Crown shyness, also called crown disengagement, is a strange phenomenon in which the canopy branches of certain trees do not touch, creating this fascinating array of gaps when a viewer looks up from beneath. It’s like looking upon inter-branching channels of water: crooked and twisted lines, contorted and full of blue sky.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> These canopy trees grow and they stretch and they stand aside one another, never alone.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Yet rarely touching.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You may recall, though, that their support for one another lies beneath the ground.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“You’re mooning,” Molly said from the front desk, a grin spreading across her face. She folded her hands over the wooden surface, like she held a little bird in her palms, or something just as precious. </p><p>“No, I’m not,” Greg insisted. He’d been standing in the lobby, getting lost in the paintings on the walls of wild gardens and black bears. “I’m just thinking.”</p><p>“About the decor?” She smirked. “Try again.”</p><p>“Okay, fine. He texted me to say he has to go away on a business trip. We were talking about dinner plans for Thursday, and now I’m bummed.” </p><p>“Awww, sorry.” All mirth faded from her face. “How long is he gone for?”</p><p>“He said a week, maybe two. Wasn’t exactly clear, and it’s not like we’re...boyfriends. I couldn’t exactly pester him for an exact time.”</p><p>“Hm. That blows.” </p><p>“Yeah.” His stomach was leaden and his chest compressed. “It does. But, it’s weird. That kiss was perfect. I...I don’t think that's ever happened. Jack and I bumped noses.”</p><p>“Wasn’t there anyone before Jack?”</p><p>“Yeah, a college boyfriend. Brian. Only lasted a year but we were good together. Just had different goals in life. Also had some friends with benefits situations.” Greg looked around to make sure no one was coming around the corner or through the doors as he talked. “Hookups. Nothing special for first kisses.” It was Tuesday afternoon, and the place was dead.</p><p>“Greg. You are smitten.” She leaned onto her elbows with her hands flat on the countertop for emphasis. “Smitten.”</p><p>Greg turned away, his shoulders closed in on himself. He was, for want of a better word, twitter-pated. But he was being an idiot, and he knew it. Mycroft found him attractive, but he was also very reserved, and from another country. This was nothing more than a fling, and Greg had to keep that in mind. </p><p>“Also, I thought he was on sabbatical,” Molly was saying.</p><p>“He was. I don’t know. Or he’s going to be? I don’t know how it works. I guess it’s like a telecommuting thing right now, and then he does this sort of half-sabbatical bit.”</p><p>“Hm, yeah, I remember him saying something along those lines. Maybe the British have a different idea of what a sabbatical is.”</p><p>“I get the feeling this is all Mycroft.”</p><p>“Well, don’t be too glum. I’m sure he’ll miss you.” </p><p>“Yeah. Sure.” </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“So mom and I are going to go dress shopping next weekend,” Peri said. “I think mom’s worried about paying for the wedding. And, I wondered if you might pay for my dress?”</p><p>Jo had informed Greg mere days ago that Peregrine was her maid of honor. </p><p>“Yeah, sweetie,” he said in a quiet voice as his heart sank slowly to his stomach. “Of course. It’s the least I could do for the wedding.”</p><p>She looked up from her phone long enough to smile at him. Her legs swung from the stool as she went back to typing, lower lip held between her teeth. She was slender like a crane, and perched on her stool Greg thought for a moment of how she used to sit on that stool hugging a stuffed unicorn and watching him cook, asking him questions like why vanilla extract smelled so good but tasted so awful. Now she texted her friends and asked him for money. </p><p>Greg shook his head from his thoughts. This was to be expected. He’d been a right asshole as a teen to his mother at times, so he was lucky that Peri might spend half her time ignoring him, instead of partying, taking drugs, and ignoring curfew. </p><p>It was a Saturday night, and she was hanging out with her dad. Sort of.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Greg squinted in the sunlight as he opened the door for Jo. “Hey.”</p><p>“Hi!” she said as she stepped in and swung her pocketbook down on the coffee table. Her sun-kissed braids swayed behind her back as she went into the kitchen and got herself a glass of water. “Did ya have a good weekend?”</p><p>“Yeah.” She’d holed up in her room after a movie, and he could hear video game noises through the door. He cursed the day he’d let her have the consoles in her room. “I hear you and Peri are going dress shopping next weekend.”</p><p>“Oh yes. I’m a little nervous but I’m also excited. Sometimes I’m not sure what to feel. Like, is this really happening?” She laughed, a happy and jangling sound. “And, my god, the wedding industry is unbelievable. We just want something simple and small. Mom is already driving me nuts, and Grandmama has a thousand opinions on everything.”</p><p>Greg chuffed as he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. “I can just imagine the two of them planning your wedding.”</p><p>“I’m about ready to let them do it, just looking at the to-do list. But I want it to be my wedding.” She gulped down the water and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before rinsing the glass in the sink. “It’s bad enough I have to have my sisters for bridesmaids. And Marcus’ sister, too.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Yeah, I don’t think you’ve met her, She lives in New Haven. Department of Family and Children’s Aid worker. She has some horror stories, god, I don’t even want to think about it.” She gave the glass a quick wash and set it in the dish rack. “Anyway, she’s kind of a hard ass, but Es is determined to put her in her place.”</p><p>“Hmph.” Jo’s big sister Esther always seemed to think it was her job to let everyone know what she thought of their “place.” Sometimes Jo encouraged it - when it worked to her advantage.</p><p>“Anyway, I have to pick bridesmaid dresses, but only after I pick my wedding dress. So, Peri is determined to get me to choose something. She’s almost as bad as Maman and Granme. Remember how worried I was about her accepting Marcus? Turns out I needn’t have worried at all.” She laughed again and Greg had to smile. Jo deserved this. As much as he sort of didn’t like Marcus. </p><p>“I’m so happy for you,” he said. His eyes focused on the glass on the rack, beads of water dripping down the sides. How easily he and Jo moved about in each other’s lives. How that was all changing. He wondered if he might ask her about a plus one, but would there even be a plus one to bring?</p><p>“Thanks.” She quieted, taking one braid between her fingers and twisting it. “And, thank you for having been there for me all through the bad and the ugly, too.”</p><p>Greg snorted. “And man, was there some ugly among your exes.”</p><p>“Ah! Fuck you!” Jo yelped with laughter as she swatted his arm. </p><p>He sobered after a moment of laughter. “I’m glad you found your man, Jo.”</p><p>Her answering smile was soft. Sweet. “You’ll find yours one day.”</p><p>Greg sniffed and pushed himself away from the door frame as he turned to walk into the living room. “Maybe that’s not my path. Maybe I’m not meant to be with someone for a lifetime partnership.”</p><p>“Don’t start talking like that. You’re still young.” She followed him. </p><p>Greg scoffed and threw himself down on the sofa.</p><p>“Stop it. You just need to put yourself out there. I know the community here is small, but I know you also haven’t been trying any dating apps, and you haven’t gone out to the clubs -”</p><p>“The last time I went was so embarrassing -”</p><p>“I know, Greg. <em> I know</em>. But, I mean, other clubs in the state.”</p><p>Greg rubbed a hand down his face in a self-conscious gesture. “I feel too old for these clubs.”</p><p>“I’ve seen plenty of old men at the clubs, so don’t even try it. Stop it with the pity party.”</p><p>“I know. I know. You’re right. Maybe I’ll visit Damien again this year and meet someone in Mass.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, with Damien as your wingman? Has he slept with all of the gays and visiting gays on Cape Cod yet? All the questioning ones? All the married-but-I’ll-do-dick-on-the-side charmers?”</p><p>Greg guffawed - it wasn’t far from the truth. “The man has some standards. He doesn’t go for just anyone. They’ve gotta be at least eighteen and not geriatric.”</p><p>“Right.” She rolled her eyes and sank down on the other end of the couch. “Just don’t get sucked into his bullshit. Man, these heels are killing me.” She kicked them off, bright orange strappy things with wedges. “When is Her Highness coming out of her room?”</p><p>“I told her you were on your way. She said she was packing, but she brought like two things, so my guess is she’s scrolling on her phone. Also, Damien’s been better these past few years. He’s not fucking his way through every weekend like he used to.”</p><p>“Don’t get me wrong. I like him. We had a great time together back in the day.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Greg said as he crossed an arm over his torso. “I don’t remember a lot of it, though.” Damien had made the third in their trio of do-nothings for three summers in a row - all interning at the local zoo. Damien supplied the drugs and encouraged the shots and lived for clubbing, bar-hopping and pool halls. </p><p>“And that’s the problem!” Jo laughed as she threw her arms up in the air. “I don’t think any of us remember a whole lot of that.”</p><p>“Might be better for it.” There were late summer nights with clove cigarettes, Mike’s Hard Lemonade, music always playing from someone’s car stereo. Whatever they could get, whatever was cheapest, was on tap at night. </p><p>“I’m just sayin’.” A pointed stare.</p><p>“I haven’t done any drugs but weed in a long time. I won’t get into trouble with him.”</p><p>“Thank you.” </p><p>“Thanks for caring about me. I don’t think I ever say it enough. You and Peri saved me.”</p><p>Jo was quiet for a moment. “Me too, Greg. And this wedding, me getting married, will never change that. I love you.”</p><p>His heart bloomed as his eyes prickled and he looked away. “Love you, too.”</p><p>Jo started to say something, but the sound of Peri’s door opening stopped her. </p><p>“You ready to go yet?” she called out. “I thought we’d get our nails done before we go home.”</p><p>“Okay, I’m ready.” Peri’s hair was in full fro, halo-like and lovely around her pale brown face. </p><p>Jo hopped up and hugged her. “Great. Give your dad a hug and a kiss and let’s hit the road.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Sherlock! Jesus Christ! What do you think you’re doing?!” Greg said as he watched the lanky beekeeper scale the rooftop of the main building.</p><p>“Research!” Sherlock shouted back, and vaulted over an edge that led to the flat part of the building’s roof. </p><p>Greg stalked into the building to be met by Molly. “Sherlock’s on the roof. Why is that?”</p><p>“What?” she said. Her cheeks colored a bit. “Oh. He did say something about rooftop beekeeping as a study in regards to hive placement...I didn’t think he’d go out on the roof.”</p><p>“Does Henric know?”</p><p>“Does Henric...want to know?”</p><p>“Ugh. Fine. I’ll get him off there myself.”</p><p>Greg walked back out into the May sunshine and looked to the roof. Sherlock wasn’t to be seen. “When are you gonna be done?” he shouted.</p><p>“My investigation is completed.” Sherlock’s voice came from around the corner at ground level. He appeared, jaunting up the sidewalk toward Greg in his jeans and black windbreaker, his dark curls askew in the breeze. “I’m curious as to the foraging habits of bees and how it might change depending on how high the beehive is positioned. If I examine the pollen specific to the hives, a pattern may emerge. Of course, I’ll need several rooftops and many hives -”</p><p>“Have you talked to Henric about this?”</p><p>Sherlock tossed his mane of curls. “If he wants this institution to appear in more scientific journals, he’ll see my reasoning.”</p><p>“If you got hurt, I’m not sure insurance would have been happy to hear you were on the roof.”</p><p>Sherlock’s face twisted with annoyance. “I am a capable person. I’m not sure I need you to mother me.” His eyes rolled to the back of his head. “It’s bad enough that my damnable brother is here mothering me.”</p><p>Greg’s heart flipped. “Is he...back from his trip, then?”</p><p>Sherlock snapped his gaze to Greg, and held it like a predator sensing prey. Greg tried to play it off. “What? I can’t ask about your family, Sherlock?”</p><p>“No. You can’t.” His words were sharp, and his eyes unmoving. “Yes. Mycroft has returned and his presence makes me ill. Hence, why I am doing everything I can to avoid his...visit.” He spat out the last word.</p><p>“Oh, is he staying with you now?”</p><p>“No.” His eyes narrowed. “Why are you so interested in my brother?”</p><p>Greg let his shoulders lift, and then he started walking toward the front doors.</p><p>“Oh, ew! You can’t be serious, can you, Lestrade? Lestrade?”</p><p>Greg opened the door and walked through. </p><p>Mycroft was back. And hadn’t texted or called him. <em> Of course, he might just be getting settled in. Why are you so goddamn needy?  </em></p><p>Greg’s shoulders closed in and he shoved his hands into his pockets. <em> Why am I so goddamn needy? I need to chill. Just chill. It’s not going anywhere, anyway. Just a fling.  </em></p><p>
  <em> But why isn’t he interested? </em>
</p><p>“Arrrghhh,” Greg grumbled. Molly looked up from the front desk.</p><p>“Sherlock still on the roof?”</p><p>“No. His research is complete now, I guess.” </p><p>“Oh good,” she said, her face brightening. “We won’t have to call any emergency services after all.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Greg said. “I’ll just be in my office.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>At his desk, Greg took out his phone. He unlocked it, and went to the last exchange between him and Mycroft. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Received</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Greg, I shall be away for an undetermined period  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> of time for work. Perhaps a week, perhaps two? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thank you again for your hospitality. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sent</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Oh hey, thanks for letting me know! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Text when you get back, k? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I had fun on Saturday.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And, three days later:</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sent</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Thought you might like this photo of the crow! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She loves her bananas. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Accompanying that text was an attached image of Picard holding a piece of banana in her foot, and another piece in her beak, while a third piece lay pinned beneath her other foot.</p><p>No reply.</p><p>The next day:</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sent</b>
</p><p>
  <em> I came across this article on mute swans versus trumpeter swans. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mute swans are winning but it seems like trumpeter swans ought </em>
</p><p>
  <em>to be able to blast them out of the water, right? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A poor attempt at a joke.</p><p>No reply.</p><p>Which was stupid really. He was sitting here, staring at the message exchange with a guy he barely knew. Greg had wanted to get to know him, wanted to know him in the carnal sense and the friendship sense and more, but clearly Mycroft had not made him any sort of priority. And why should he?</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He walked back to his house, looping about the trails such that he took the one that went past the barred owl nest. Movement at the entrance caught his eye. He zoomed in as far as he could with his phone. An owlet stared back at him, perched comfortably on the edge of the hollow in the tree. He snapped a photo, shaky as it was. </p><p>He walked back to his house on the edge of the preserve, where the old gray tomcat greeted him at the door.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Artemis soared through the sky, passing beneath the white clouds and above the gold-studded meadow. Greg could just imagine what she saw - the very clear details of the flora below, the thin trails left behind by diminutive meadow voles, perhaps the shell of an Eastern box turtle on the move, birds in the trees… Anything and everything within the scope of her vision. </p><p>If she went further than this meadow, he could imagine the green stretches of canopy, opening into places where trees fell or burned or were cut down. Grassy stretches across hilly areas, crosscut by old stone walls and roadways. Flying over towns and rivers and cars and parking lots. </p><p>Freedom.</p><p>And then the yearly return to a nest and a partner. A simple matter of mating and caring for a small brood. </p><p>It was only a romanticized ideal of a wild life that could be very difficult, particularly in a brutal winter. </p><p>It was a fantasy.</p><p>He called for Artemis to come back. As she landed on his arm he felt the gentle breeze of her wings across his face. “Good girl,” he cooed to her. She chirped and he gave her a bit of mouse.</p><p>After returning her to the mews and going back inside, he took out his phone to look at the photo of the owlet. The image was shadowy with blurred edges, but still recognizable. He decided to share it with Mycroft. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Owlets have fledged!  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Then, before he hit send, he was moved to add something else. Perhaps it was the mix of melancholy and whimsy he’d been experiencing. Jack had teased him about his love for poetry and his random recitations, but Mycroft was made of finer things. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I want to think again of dangerous and </em>
</p><p>
  <em> noble things.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I want to be light and frolicsome. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> of nothing, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> as though I had wings.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He hit send before he could second-guess himself, resigning himself to fate.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>An hour later and no response. Greg didn’t bother to change out of his sweats or even look in the mirror at his bed head and stubble. He flopped onto the sofa, glanced at his guitar in the corner of the room, and ended up flipping the tv on.</p><p>The doorbell rang.</p><p>“Great.” His coworkers would text him ahead of time if they were coming by. It was probably one of the regular trail walkers. With it being spring, sometimes a frantic visitor with a baby bunny or bird in a box would show up on his doorstep. With a prepared speech for how they needed to put the baby back, he opened the door.</p><p>Mycroft stood there in a navy corduroy jacket, camel trousers, and a light blue button down. Neat. Trim. His face was somewhat flushed, and his hair had a touch of curl, but overall, he was clean cut and precise in his sartorial choice. Greg regretted remaining in his sweats.</p><p>Still, he set back his shoulders and frowned at Mycroft. “This is a surprise.”</p><p>Mycroft stared at him and tilted his chin upward. “I assure you no one is more surprised than I.”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” But already, he felt that little flicker of hope in his chest, dividing and multiplying like living, growing cells. It was absorbing his hurt and resentment like some sort of multicellular amoeba. “You - sort of ghosted me. I know this isn’t serious between us, but I did think we were becoming friends?”</p><p>“It isn’t advisable for someone like me to enter any sort of arrangement like this.”</p><p>“You - what?” Greg’s mind boggled. “You know, sometimes I wonder if you know how to speak plain english.” <em> Mycroft wanted him. </em>That’s what he could read beneath the words. Mycroft wasn’t the type to allow himself a fling, but he wanted this.</p><p>And god Greg wanted him. Every cell in his body was hot with want for this uptight toff and he’d just about forgotten his talk with himself about falling in too hard too easily.</p><p>Mycroft’s eyes fell to the ground, and his shoulders lost that stick-up-the-arse look. “I...got your text message,” he said, his hands fluttering in front of him as if he expected to hold onto something, then settled one hand over his forearm and holding it against his body. “It was unexpected. The poem...and I - I want. Those things. I want those things, too.” It was as if his ability to construct sentences had left him. Until he spoke again, in his smooth, melodious voice: “I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing, as though I had wings.<em> ” </em></p><p>Greg’s insides inflamed. Both bereft and bolstered by this little show of vulnerability from Mycroft, he had no wish to examine the conflicted feelings any more closely - he preferred the avenue of ease and desire. </p><p>Greg grabbed Mycroft by the shoulder and pulled him inside the house.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In regards to Greg’s suspicion that it was a walker with a baby animal at his door, I have A Note about springtime and baby animals:</p><p>We get a ton of phone calls every spring about baby birds, bunnies, and fawns. Here are some truths:</p><p>1. Mother rabbits (and this pertains to many rabbit species, but primarily Eastern and New England cottontails) visit their nest (which is above-ground, unlike many rabbit warrens of other countries) about twice per day. The kits do not have a scent that will attract predators, whereas the mothers do. The majority of the time that we get phone calls or someone comes by with baby rabbits in a box, it's because they haven't seen the mother lately and figure they were abandoned - but they are not. One way to test whether the mother is visiting is to lay something light like yarn across the nest in a tic-tac-toe pattern. If it's disturbed within 24 hours, you have an attentive mother rabbit. If not, then yes, the babies will need help.</p><p>2. Mother deer also will only visit their fawns on rare occasions for the same odor reason as the mother rabbits. Newborns will spend a lot of time lying in a quiet place with mom visiting for feedings. Sometimes older fawns will wander from their moms, or nap somewhere while their mother is nearby, and people will "fawn-nap" them thinking they are abandoned. Unless a fawn is walking around and crying, obviously in distress, leave the fawn alone and watch from a distance, preferably somewhere the mother can't see you.</p><p>3. Baby birds are the other big one. When a bird has "fledged," that means they have left the nest but are still being cared for by the parents. If the baby bird you see is sort of fluffy looking, covered in down and feather, he or she is likely in the care of an adult bird in the area. Don't bird-nap them! However, if a nestling is naked or partly naked, it may have fallen out of the nest. Try to put him or her back in the nest.</p><p>The ultimate rule among wildlife rehabbers is that "mom knows best." No matter how diligent a human is with a wild baby animal, the best caretaker and teacher for that animal is its actual parent*. Their best hope for survival in the wild is for their parent to teach them that survival - which humans simply can't do as well. </p><p>If you do find an orphaned animal in distress, his or her best shot (in the US at least) is a licensed rehabber who specializes in that particular species. Google rehabbers in your area, and get the animal to safety. (Other tips: do not try to feed or water the animal, but do keep them in a warm, quiet place. The rehabber will give you instructions on food and water if necessary.)</p><p>Thank you so much for reading. I'll get off the soapbox now. X-D</p><p>*Like every rule, there are exceptions. Largely, though, mom does know best.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Like Strata of the Earth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>A common misconception among humans: humans and bonobos are the only species to engage in sex for purposes other than procreation. Science is proving otherwise - in bats, dolphins, lions, bears, oh my! (Also horses, goats, cheetahs, cattle, hyenas, and most primates.) Acts like oral sex and masturbation have been observed in a multitude of species, including tortoises. Sex acts and reasons for sex are varied - and what fun for us that it’s so, huh?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The door hadn’t even closed all the way when Mycroft’s mouth descended upon Greg’s. Greg grunted as Mycroft pressed against him and pinned him to the wall beside the door. </p><p>The kiss was nothing like the one they had shared in the forest. Ravenous, his tongue explored the inside of Mycroft’s mouth, pushing past the man's own tongue, touching the upper palate, barely scraping along his teeth. He switched direction just to suck on Mycroft’s lower lip and then lick along across the upper while Mycroft released an open-mouthed groan.</p><p>The following series of kisses fueled the heat between them, their desire obvious with the press of their groins. Greg fisted Mycroft’s jacket while Mycroft slid his hands around Greg’s hips and grabbed his ass. Mycroft’s erection pushed against Greg through the thin material of his sweats and sent a new sting of arousal singing through his body.</p><p>“Bedroom?” he asked. As much he wanted to drop trou and then to his knees to service Mycroft’s cock, he wanted even more to spread the man out on his bed and ride him. </p><p>“Yes, yes please,” came Mycroft’s breathless reply. </p><p>“Come on, then.” He pushed Mycroft from him, grabbed his hand and led him to the stairs, his heart thumping and his cock as hard as nails.</p><p>Up in his room he pulled off his top. Mycroft stared at him like a man starved at a feast and the want in his eyes sent shivers down his spine. </p><p>“I want to ride you,” Greg said. “Is that okay?”</p><p>Mycroft’s eyes widened and took a breath. “Yes.” He pulled off his jacket, and by the time he was unbuttoning his pants, Greg had removed all of his clothes except for his briefs. </p><p>He kneeled before Mycroft, who gasped to see him there. He unzipped Mycroft's pants and peeled the briefs down to reveal a sizable cock, pale on the shaft and blushed red around the head, several bluish veins like lines of tree roots along a path. Greg followed that path with his tongue to find the treasure at its end.</p><p>“Oh god,” Mycroft groaned. “Yes, oh yes. God.”</p><p>Greg enveloped the glans with his mouth and gave it a gentle suck, watching as Mycroft moaned, tossing his head back. Taking in as much as he could without gagging, Greg bobbed his head and laved the underside with his tongue. Mycroft whimpered as he pulled off and stroked it with both of his hands - up and down, up and down, Mycroft’s hips thrusting along with the rhythm. When the man’s knees and thighs began to tremble, Greg removed his hands from Mycroft’s cock and placed them over his thighs, soothing him with long strokes. “On the bed?”</p><p>“Yes,” Mycroft said as he opened his eyes to look down at Greg with his round face and a rosy flush to his cheeks, his eyes heavy-lidded with want as a loose curl made an appearance over his forehead. </p><p>Greg hadn’t seen something so beautiful in a long time. </p><p>Then, his eyes holding Greg’s, Mycroft cupped his cheek with one pale palm and said, “You’re so beautiful.”</p><p>Greg turned his face away, though he blushed with pleasure. “I was just thinking the same of you,” he returned in a rough voice. “Come on.”</p><p>Greg helped him get the rest of his clothes off and pushed him down on the bed. “I have condoms. And lube.” He crawled over the long-bodied man. “I want you however you want it. I’ve been thinking of riding you, but if you’d rather the other way around -“</p><p>“Oh good god, man, either. Any way. Any way you’ll let me have you.” Mycroft reached up and framed his face with his hands. </p><p>“I usually top,” Greg said. “But -“</p><p>“Anything, Greg. Anything you want.”</p><p>Mycroft released him as Greg reached into the nightstand and pulled out the condoms - checked the date, still current, thank the universe - and the lube. “I want to ride you.” </p><p>“Yes. Yes.” Mycroft stroked his obliques, and then traced his fingertips around his nipples. Greg bucked and then groaned. </p><p>“God, you have no idea how good that feels. 'M sensitive.”</p><p>“I love watching you. I love making you squirm.” The man’s voice was sex.</p><p>When one of Mycroft’s hands left his nipple, he whimpered but then shuddered when that hand found his dick. Mycroft gave him several strokes. “God, you’re a beautiful man.” </p><p>Greg lowered himself to Mycroft and crushed their lips together. Mycroft kept stroking his cock, the other hand tweaking his nipples, and Greg widened his thighs as sparks of arousal shot through his nerves. He pictured Mycroft’s cock inside him, and he thrust his hips in response to that imagining as electricity seemed to zigzag across him. “I need you.”</p><p>“Yes.” Mycroft let go of his cock. Greg sat up on his heels and opened the condom packet. He placed the condom in his mouth, the edges carefully framed by his lips and teeth. He lowered his head over Mycroft’s cock, and swallowed it down, carefully placing the condom. When he sat up, Mycroft watched him with an arched eyebrow. Greg grinned, winked, and Mycroft laughed. </p><p>Greg threw the torn packet to the side of the bed and grabbed the bottle of lube, squirting it over Mycroft’s cock and smearing it with his fingers. He straddled Mycroft’s hips and pumped lube onto Mycroft’s palm. The squelch of Mycroft’s fingers spreading it around his fist was soon followed by the sensation of those fingers sliding over his balls - <em> ecstasy </em> - and then he felt the first insertion. He bore down, the finger easily sliding inside his tight channel. Mycroft added a second finger. Precome dripped from the tip of Greg’s cock and onto Mycroft’s stomach. As Mycroft rubbed along the walls of his rectum, Greg moaned with the building sensation and whined when Mycroft pulled his fingers out. Through unspoken agreement Greg pumped more lube onto his fingers. Mycroft pushed as much of the lube as he could into Greg’s ass.</p><p>When Mycroft’s cock nudged at his entrance, he lowered himself, slowly. With incremental movements and deep, steady breathing, sliding down on the shaft wasn’t too bad even if the stretch was accompanied with a hiss of pain. He opened his eyes to see Mycroft’s face in a furrow of pleasure, his lips parted and irises shrunk, his head against the pillow as he watched the juncture of their bodies. His eyes seemed to hold a sense of awe, as if he saw something precious in Greg and was sinking into this experience with the intention of putting everything to memory. When those eyes met Greg’s, Greg nearly gasped with the intangible connection he found there.</p><p>
  <em> Me too. This is happening for me, too. </em>
</p><p>His eyes traced the crevice of Mycroft’s mouth and traveled across the sheen of the man’s brow and the soft lines around his eyes. The worshipful gaze of the man lying below him. Greg pushed down a little more. “You’re perfect. You fill me so well,” he whispered. </p><p>The stretch burned but Greg welcomed it, knowing the pleasure always followed the pain. </p><p>The slide was finally complete as Greg’s balls lay on Mycroft’s groin. He waited, letting himself adjust. “Sorry, it’s been a while,” he said as he let out a shaky breath.</p><p>“Take all the time you need,” was Mycroft’s gentle reply. He rubbed Greg’s thighs as his eyes watched Greg’s face. “You look glorious, taking all of me like this.”</p><p>“God,” Greg groaned. “You’re so fucking sexy. You feel so good.”</p><p>Mycroft’s face quirked with amusement at that. “You’re unbelievably sexy.” He said ‘sexy’ as if he wasn’t used to saying it at all. “I almost tried to avoid this.”</p><p>The Brit was balls deep in him, and he didn’t want to contemplate anything else. “I’m glad you didn’t.”</p><p>“God help me, I am, too,” Mycroft said as he hit his head against the pillow. </p><p>Greg began to rock his hips up and down, lightly, slowly, testing the rub of Mycroft’s dick along his walls. The pain was abating, so Greg moved faster and faster. Mycroft moaned with the movement. Greg grabbed his hands and placed them on his hips. “Fuck me,” he demanded.</p><p>Mycroft held tight to Greg and fucked up into his body, his feet planted on the bed and his hips snapping in quick thrusts. Greg gasped and whined with the force of it. Whenever he caught the look on Mycroft’s face, Greg felt exalted, embraced in a fevered spiral of a worshipful, whirling dervish. </p><p>The competing sensations coiled deep in his belly as his prostate was pressed again and again. Mycroft sweated, panted, gripped Greg’s hips so hard he thought they might bruise. He hoped they would. The pressure in his groin built and crescendoed into a long cry from his throat as semen spilled from his cock and puddled across Mycroft’s belly. The waves of orgasm moved through his body as his dick spurted. </p><p>Mycroft began to pull out from beneath him, but Greg made him stay. “No, you can - you can come. I can take it.”</p><p>Mycroft almost protested but Greg shook his head, sweat dropping from his brow. “Do it.”</p><p>Mycroft fucked him, bouncing Greg up and down as he chased his own orgasm. Greg was sensitive and it was almost too much, but he wanted to feel it - to feel alive.</p><p>It wasn’t long before Mycroft arched up, grunted and cried out softly, emptying his balls into the condom deep inside Greg. His hips fell back against the mattress and Greg collapsed over Mycroft. When Mycroft’s cock slipped out, Greg rolled over onto his back beside his lover.</p><p>
  <em> Lover? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> After that? Definitely. Has to be. </em>
</p><p>“Holy fuck. I haven’t come like that in a long, long time,” Greg said, and blew a bit of hair from his forehead. His limbs were watery, floppy as fish. </p><p>“Neither have I.” Greg couldn’t help but think that the British accent was definitely a turn-on. “It was rather...invigorating.”</p><p>Greg snorted with laughter. He rolled into his side, and cringed when he saw the pools of come on Mycroft’s lightly furred belly. “Let me get you something for that.”</p><p>“Heavens, Greg. I should be taking care of you. Are you quite alright?”</p><p>“I’m gonna be sore later, but it’s the good kind.” Greg grinned as he stood up. “Be back in a minute.”</p><p>When he returned, Mycroft was propped up on his elbows as his eyes traveled around Greg’s room. He refocused on Greg as Greg approached with the towel. The condom was off, and Mycroft held it between two fingers, already tied.</p><p>“Allow me,” Greg said as he took it and turned to drop it into the wastebasket. He wiped most of the come off of Mycroft, who then stood. </p><p>“If I may use the facilities.”</p><p>“Please.” Greg waved a hand in the direction of the stairs. He ran his hands over the sheets to test for any wet spots, and not finding any, threw himself down on the bed. </p><p>
  <em> God, now what? Will he stay? Was it just a one off? He must feel it, too. I can’t be the only one feeling it. </em>
</p><p>Mycroft returned from the bathroom. He looked a little shy, and his eyes found his clothes crumpled on the ground.</p><p>Greg cleared his throat. “Would you like to stay awhile?”</p><p>Mycroft’s eyes didn’t quite meet his. “Well, I had hoped we might visit the owl nest this afternoon, if you’re available.”</p><p>“I’m available.” Greg grinned. “Get in here.”</p><p>Mycroft smiled and slid into bed beside him. Greg snuggled up beside him, pulling the sheet over both of them. He took the opportunity to look at Mycroft more closely - a scar from a scratch below his collarbone, soft ginger-colored chest hair, and freckles, freckles everywhere. He kissed Mycroft’s shoulder on an impulse.</p><p>Mycroft’s eyes found his. Whaleskin grey, if he had to pick a color. </p><p>“I think I might drift off,” Greg told him.</p><p>Mycroft smiled, soft and sweet. “I’m amenable to your agenda.”</p><p>Greg giggled. “Most excellent.”</p><p>It wasn’t long before the two men fell asleep, pressed along the lines of each other’s bodies, like the strata of the earth. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg awoke to the slightly sticky warmth of another person beside him. His heart expanded in his chest like the clouds opening for the sun when he remembered what had happened, here in this bed, with this man beside him. </p><p><em> Sap</em>. He heard Damien’s voice in his head. He grinned. Well, if nothing else between them happened, he’d just experienced a spectacular and mind-numbing orgasm. </p><p>
  <em> I hope there’s more to come. </em>
</p><p>The juvenile urge to giggle over his unintentional pun caught him by surprise. He hadn’t spent a lot of time laughing to himself lately.</p><p>Mycroft stirred, a slight twitch of his shoulders and a change in the pace of his breathing. Greg watched as his eyes opened, slow to focus on the ceiling above them. A wrinkle disturbed his smooth brow and he turned his face to Greg’s. </p><p>“Hi,” Greg said. </p><p>The smile that spread on Mycroft’s lips was slow and his face seemed full of wonder. “Hi,” came the soft response.</p><p>Greg’s stomach rumbled.</p><p>“Uh, so I haven’t eaten lunch yet,” he said, unable to stop his goofy grinning. He turned his eyes away. “Can I offer you some peanut butter and jelly?”</p><p>He looked back at Mycroft, who snorted, and raised an eyebrow at Greg. “I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“Granted, but no need to beg.” Greg laughed and nuzzled Mycroft’s shoulder with his nose. The skin there was exposed to the air and cool to the touch. “Only the best here at <em>casa de</em> Greg. PB and J, or I could offer a fluffernutter.”</p><p>Mycroft’s mouth gaped. “A what?”</p><p>“My man, is it possible that you have never had a fluffernutter sandwich?” Greg sat up. </p><p>“I’m not entirely sure what you’re referring to.” His face showed a confused mixture of horror and perplexity.</p><p>“A fluffernutter sandwich is the perfect mix of sugary marshmallowy goodness combined with creamy peanut butter between two slices of bread.”</p><p>“That sounds abhorrent.” Myroft propped himself up onto his elbows. “And not at all what I imagined.”</p><p>“Do you like marshmallows?” </p><p>“They are a bit sweet...I do like sweet things.” Mycroft’s face blushed.</p><p>“Do you like peanut butter?”</p><p>“Well, while it is quite fattening, it is very filling.”</p><p>Greg exhaled as he shook his head and rolled his shoulders. “It’s filling, and it’s fattening, and it’s delicious. Come on. This is a sandwich worth eating.” He hopped out of the bed, naked. He looked over his shoulder at Mycroft and winked. “And you know, we can work off the calories later.”</p><p>Mycroft sniggered, one hand over his mouth and nose.</p><p>Greg grabbed his robe from the hook on the closet door. “Um. why don’t you use this? I’ll just throw on a pair of boxers.” He liked the thought of Mycroft wearing his things.</p><p>Mycroft stood and accepted the robe with a long-fingered hand and a shy smile. “Thank you.”</p><p>“My pleasure.” </p><p>In the kitchen Greg made a grandiose presentation of creating a fluffernutter sandwich, while Mycroft shook his head and arched a brow here and there, and acted generally put upon and overly tolerant of Greg’s quirk.</p><p>When he took that first bite, though, he lowered the sandwich to his plate with a bowed head and a deep sigh.</p><p>“What? What do you think of it?” Greg leaned over the table in a giddy sense of anticipation. </p><p>“Greg. I don’t want to like this. It’s made with <em> corn syrup</em>.” Mycroft flicked a hand toward the jar of fluff on the counter. “It’s despicable. So, why, <em> why </em>must it taste as if it were the gods’ own ambrosia?”</p><p>Greg slapped the counter as he whooped and laughed, his mind sparkling with an elated sense of satisfaction. “Ha! See? You Brits don’t know what you’re missing.”</p><p>“Ninety-one calories per ounce, apparently...and <em> thirteen grams of sugar?! </em>” Mycroft had grabbed the jar and read the label. </p><p>Greg snatched it from him. “Listen, the peanut butter I have is all natural and no sweetener added, so they cancel each other out!” </p><p>“You are going to be very bad for my diet.” Mycroft leveled him with an almost serious stare.</p><p>Greg’s heart suffused with glee. “Am I?”</p><p>Mycroft’s gaze sobered. He licked a crumb from his lip. “I think so.”</p><p>“I am going to be good for burning calories, though,” Greg said as he waggled his eyebrows.</p><p>Mycroft barked a laugh, stuttered, as if he were surprised by it, and then laughed some more.</p><p>Greg beamed. Then his phone buzzed with a text message.</p><p>
  <em> Shit. </em>
</p><p>He’d entirely forgotten.</p><p>“Shit, shit, shit.” Greg grabbed his phone. “It’s Jo. We, uh, we do this family thing every Saturday. A yoga class.” He held his head in his hands, his right pressing the phone against the crown of his head. “I forgot to text them.”</p><p>“Oh,” Mycroft said. “I didn’t mean for you to -”</p><p>“Nope. This is entirely my fault.” He read Jo’s text. She was just asking him where he was. He typed out a response.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Sorry. Something came up and I got sidetracked and forgot the time </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Oh. So ur not coming? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> No, not at this point. I’ll explain later. Sorry. Tell Peri I said sorry. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Tell her urself  :-P </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> I will. All my love. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Love u 2 </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“There.” He put the phone back on the table and looked at Mycroft. “All set.”</p><p>“I don’t wish to prevent you from spending time with your family,” Mycroft said quietly.</p><p>“It’s alright. We sometimes don’t get together. I mean, when I have Peri, she and I go to the class, and every once in a while, Jo can’t make it. Every once in a while, I can’t make it when she goes with Jo. And there have even been a couple times where Peri had other plans. So, no biggie.” He sat back on his stool. “The opportunity’s already gone, anyway. The class will be over in forty-five minutes.”</p><p>“Mm.” Mycroft broke off a piece of the fluffernutter sandwich and put it in his mouth. He closed his eyes as he chewed. Greg smiled.</p><p>“I happened to notice a guitar in your living room,” Mycroft said after he swallowed. </p><p>Greg pursed his lips as he gave a nod. “Haven’t been playing much lately, but it’s been with me for almost twenty years. Do you play an instrument?”</p><p>“Cello.”</p><p>“Oh! Have you and Sherlock played together, then?”</p><p>Mycroft smiled, though it seemed distant. “We have.”</p><p>“Why don’t you two get along now?”</p><p>Mycroft’s face did something complicated - a shadow of doubt or a hint of impatience, but it passed and his expression returned to neutral. “I’m never entirely sure, but there have been...obscurities between us that have led to a natural sense of distrust. Not to mention, we did have the tendency to be more...antagonistic with one another when opportunity presented itself when we were young.”</p><p>“Hm, I know what you mean.”</p><p>“You have a brother. He doesn’t live around here, though, does he?”</p><p>“Yeah. How’d you know?”</p><p>“Lucky guess. I did notice a photo of you and him together. Remarkably similar in looks.”</p><p>“He’s two years older. Has two kids who are great. Nate and Evie. His wife died years ago.”</p><p>“How - unfortunate.” Mycroft paused in breaking off another piece of the sandwich.</p><p>“Can I get you some milk to go with that?”</p><p>“Please.” Mycroft smiled at him and it made Greg’s heart flutter about like a hummingbird. </p><p>“Yeah. He didn’t really talk about it. He doesn’t talk about her, period.” Greg poured him a cup of milk and placed it on the table.</p><p>“How did she die?”</p><p>“Cancer.” </p><p>“And the children?”</p><p>“They were young. And kids are elastic. I mean, they miss her, but their concept of her is kinda...limited.” Greg took a bite of his own sandwich which had been long ignored. “You know what I mean?”</p><p>“I can guess.” Mycroft licked a bit of marshmallow fluff from his thumb. Greg’s eyes couldn’t pull away from tracking the movement of Mycroft’s petal-pink tongue. “Greg, there is something I must tell you.”</p><p>Greg’s heart seized. <em> This is it. This is where he tells me he’s got a boyfriend back in England. </em></p><p>A pause. Then, “A fluffernutter has a very different meaning in the UK.”</p><p><em> Oh. </em> Greg tilted his head. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Well, to fluff someone -”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, porn.” Greg laughed. “The guy who keeps the porn actor hard between shots by giving him a bj.”</p><p>“Er, yes.” His cheeks pinkened at that and Greg’s insides melted a little. “But, someone who fluffs too well…”</p><p>It flashed upon Greg like a lighthouse warning away sailors. “Wait, someone who is too good at the job is called a <em> fluffernutter </em>?”</p><p>“Mm.” Mycroft smiled, and his blush grew deeper.</p><p>“You’re putting me on,” Greg said, knowing his jaw hung open but not caring in the slightest. </p><p>“I am not.” Mycoft made a small noise in his throat and looked Greg in the eye.</p><p>Greg guffawed and doubled over, holding his belly. When he righted again, he kept on laughing as he said, “Well, that is a very different kind of sandwich!”</p><p>Mycroft erupted into giggles, his whole face shining with mirth. </p><p>“Oh!” Greg realized. “The look on your face when I asked if you wanted a fluffernutter sandwich!”</p><p>Mycroft laughed harder, his hands holding the edge of the table as he bent forward first, and then threw his head back, his shoulders shaking.</p><p>Greg wiped the wetness from his eyes. “That explains so much!”</p><p>They settled, eventually, chuckles escaping and eyes meeting and darting away. Greg admired the way his robe settled on Mycroft’s shoulders, the opening across his collarbones exposing curls of ginger chest hair on pale, freckled skin. The man was exquisite. </p><p>“Wait, actually,” Greg said. “That explains why Sherlock acted so oddly when I once offered him a bite of my fluffernutter sandwich.”</p><p>Mycroft flashed him a look of horror, and the two broke into uproarious laughter once again. </p><p>The rest of the day was spent in and out of bed, stroking one another’s arms and hair and talking. The floodgates were open for physical touching, and both men seemed starved for it. </p><p>They also asked each other questions about personal history. Greg learned that Mycroft went to boarding school, while Sherlock was homeschooled. He attended university at sixteen and studied Political Science and Philosophy. His Masters was in Public Administration, and he’d gone on to get a doctorate in Diplomacy and International Affairs. He was cagey about his early work in military intelligence, Greg noticed. But he was open about his work as a civil servant in the UK’s form of government. </p><p>“Well, you’re slumming with a scrub like me, then,” Greg laughed, though it was self-deprecating. “I have a degree in environmental studies, but it ended there. I went to a community college for a year first, up in Maine. I lived in a podunk town and attended public school. I ended up in Connecticut because of my friend Damien. We met online, in an AIM chatroom if you can believe it.”</p><p>“Oh, I believe it.” Mycroft gave a little snort. </p><p>“Anyway, Damien convinced me to come down here. It was a little more open to gay people. Most people where I’m from are too polite to be homophobic, but the other option is to not talk about it at all. It doesn’t mean I never run into any homophobia, but there is a larger population of LGBTQ people here. I mean, just look at the nature center. There’s three of us who aren’t straight.”</p><p>“I imagine for someone coming from an isolated town in Maine, this was very important to you.”</p><p>“Yeah. It was...freeing. Damien was really good for me. I ended up going to college and getting a degree. I met Jo, and the three of us were like the three musketeers. Or misfits. But we fit well together.”</p><p>“Where is this Damien now?”</p><p>“He lives out on Cape Cod. I usually spend the Fourth of July weekend with him. It’s become our tradition. He visits the area in the winter for the holidays to see his parents, so I get to see him then, too.”</p><p>“Mm. Was it your time in Maine that drew you to work as a naturalist?”</p><p>Greg grinned. “You’re really good at that.”</p><p>“Good at what?”</p><p>“At guessing things about me. It’s like you always know more than you let on.”</p><p>Mycroft’s smile was small and secretive. “Maine is not a densely populated state and you referred to your town as,” he inhaled and enunciated, “podunk.” He traced one finger along Greg’s arm. “It was not so difficult an assumption to make that you might have grown alongside wild places, given your choice in livelihood.”</p><p>“Right.” Greg grabbed his hand and pulled it to his chest. They were lying in bed together again, not to get each other off, but to drape themselves in skin to skin sensations. “But you’re right. I spent a lot of time alone in the woods. My mom wasn’t always a happy person and Dan was her golden boy.” He twitched a shoulder in a show of indifference. “I preferred to stay out of the way when I could.”</p><p>Mycroft deftly maneuvered the conversation from the subject, much to Greg’s pleasure. “And does your daughter enjoy the outdoors as much as you do?”</p><p>“She used to. But now she’s a gamer and she runs this YouTube channel with a friend that’s all about game reviews. It’s not that she doesn’t enjoy the outdoors. It’s more like she has less time now. Other priorities.”</p><p>“Mm.” Mycroft squeezed his hand and placed his mouth on Greg’s tricep, curling his body in and around him. </p><p>“We had plans to hike parts of the Appalachian trail after her senior year. But she hasn’t said anything when I mention it, so...I don’t know. It’s a couple years off.” </p><p>“You hike together?” </p><p>“Almost every Saturday I have her, after yoga.”</p><p>“My goodness. You paint the very definition of a wholesome family.”</p><p>“Almost. Except for the part about the high and drunken one night stand between Jo and I, and that we were never romantic partners.” </p><p>“Greg. That hardly matters. The part that matters is that you and Jo co-parented, very successfully I might add from what I’ve gathered, a marvelous young woman. Give yourself more credit.” His reply was half muffled by the proximity of his lips to Greg’s arm, but Greg got the message.</p><p>“Thanks. I, uh, suppose it’s time to go see the owlets.”</p><p>“You mean get out of bed and dress like civilized people?”</p><p>“Ha. I don’t want to either.” Greg rolled away from him. “But, it’s no guarantee we see them anytime we go, so if we miss them today, we can try another day.” His voice was tentative. <em> This isn’t a one-off, right? </em> “So, you know, we should take the chance.” </p><p>Mycroft smiled benignly. “I suppose you’re right. And after, allow me to take you to dinner.”</p><p>Greg lit up like a Christmas tree. He winked, and said in his best and poshest English accent, “I am amenable to your agenda.”</p><p>He ducked when Mycroft threw a pillow at his head, laughter curling through the air of the bedroom.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Swerve of the Trail</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Fairy shrimp exist all around the world. In the lower part of New England, Vernal Fairy Shrimp can be found in vernal pools shortly after the spring thaw. These tiny crustaceans have an amazing adaptation uniquely suited to the conditions of a vernal pool. A vernal pool may only last a couple weeks after the snow melt and the rains. It might dry up by summer, it might dry up by the end of summer. In response, fairy shrimp have evolved to lay eggs that are resistant to desiccation. The adults breed, lay eggs, and die off. The eggs wait for another season. When the right conditions come along, they hatch - but not all of them. Some eggs wait longer. In this way, if ever a vernal pool should dry up before the life cycle of the adult completes, eggs are still waiting, there in the soil, for the rains to come again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In some ways, they are like thoughts and feelings: the way some of them lie in wait, yanked back to life when the conditions are right. </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Greg stretched out in his bed, the light in the room slowly increasing as he turned his head into the pillow and smiled. He could smell Mycroft on the pillow and on the sheets. He should wash them, but honestly, he wanted the scent again when he went to bed that night. </p><p>Scratch made himself known from the bottom of the stairs, his cries like the call of a small child. Greg groaned and made himself get up, shaking his head to rid himself of the drowsiness. His ass didn’t hurt or ache, but it definitely felt different after the fucking he’d received the day before. </p><p><em> Wonder if he’s vers. </em> He yawned. <em>He did say any way. </em>Scratch yowled. “I’m coming, you ridiculous cat.” He grabbed his robe and headed down the stairs.</p><p>After feeding Scratch, he headed for the shower - and that was an idea. With a joyful urgency in his steps, he ran up the stairs and dug into the back of his closet. There, in a plastic ziploc bag, was one of his favorite toys: a fleshlight with a wall mount.</p><p>He brought it and the bottle of lube into the bathroom. After running the water and getting the room good and steamy, he warmed the fleshlight up by holding it in the stream of water and allowing it to fill. Once enough time had passed, he added lube, and stuck it to the tile wall. </p><p>Shower wanks were the best kind, especially when he could put his arms up on the wall, fill the fleshlight with his dick, and pretend he was pounding another man under the stream of heated water. And today, that imaginary man was none other than Mycroft, warm, slick skin beneath Greg's, tight ass around his cock. Greg's orgasm was explosive.</p><p>He washed it carefully, and put it away in his closet, though he didn't push it far to the back. He intended on revisiting that fantasy again.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“It was nice. Really nice.” Greg adjusted the phone at his ear as he took his leftovers from the microwave. Scratch watched him from the doorway with inquisitive eyes. </p><p>“Uh-huh. What was nice?” Jo asked, her tone deep and suggestive.</p><p>“Well, we are very compatible in bed…”</p><p>She squealed so loud that Greg flinched. “<em>Oh-em-gee</em>! Well, that’s good, because I didn’t want to say anything, but man, did you need to get laid.”</p><p>Greg chortled, handling the hot plate of beans, rice, and broccoli with his fingertips. “Thanks.”</p><p>“Anytime. So, you slept together. And it was good.”</p><p>“Very good.”</p><p>“I don’t need explicit deets. Anything else?”</p><p>“Well, we spent the day together.”</p><p>“In bed?”</p><p>“Hey, we got out and about, I’ll have you know. A visit to the owl nest, and then dinner.”</p><p>“Classy. Bed first, dinner second. Cute, fluffy owls in-between. Classic first date.”</p><p>“Among some gays I know, it’s practically a vow to commit,” Greg said. </p><p>Jo snorted with laughter. </p><p>“Unfortunately, the owlets didn’t make an appearance. So, I have a reason to see him again.” </p><p>“That’s key. So, now what? You’re back in the saddle. Get on grindr? Try match.com?”</p><p>“Uh, I don’t know. We didn’t really talk…”</p><p>“About what? This wasn’t supposed to be serious, was it?” </p><p>“Well, I don’t know what the expectation is here.”</p><p>“I thought he’s going back to England at the end of the summer?”</p><p>“Yeah. I just mean...maybe we’re doing the summer fling...I don’t know how he’d feel about me seeing other people.”</p><p>“Oh, come on, Greg. He can’t stop you from seeing other people if the long term intention here is to have a short-term fling.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he said as he set his plate on the table. “You’re right. I just haven't really thought about it. I guess I’ve...sort of given up on finding a lifetime partner. I think I’d rather just keep it simple, and see Mycroft for the summer. When he leaves, I’ll check out the dating apps.”</p><p>“And just wait for someone else to drop into your lap?”</p><p>Greg groaned as he sank into the kitchen chair. “Listen, you know I’ve begun thinking there isn’t anyone out there for me. I’m getting old, and I don’t want the drama of dating. I like this thing with Mycroft, and I think it’ll be good for me in the end. And if someone else comes along, after” - his stomach clenched at the thought of <em> after </em> - “then great. If not, I’ll learn to live with myself.”</p><p>Jo was silent for a moment. </p><p>“Jo?”</p><p>She sighed. “Isn’t this a little...fast? And, with a guy that’s going to leave? It’s just…”</p><p>“Just what?” Greg tapped his fingers against the table surface with an impatient impulse. </p><p>“You know what? Nothing.”</p><p>Greg almost exhaled with relief. He didn’t want to examine this too closely, and while he could recognize that the feeling wasn’t ideal, he still wasn’t ready to put it under a microscope. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Dad, that’s like the third time you’ve looked at your phone and started smiling like that. It’s creepy.” </p><p>“Hm?” Greg glanced up at his daughter. They were watching <em> Parks &amp; Rec</em>, but really, Peregrine was playing a game on her phone and Greg was texting with Mycroft.</p><p>Her brown eyes, so like his, watched him with a look of suspicion. “Are you dating someone?”</p><p>Greg sucked his lips between his teeth. He hadn’t expected Peri to catch on this quick. And he hadn’t talked it over with Jo. “Just talking with a friend.”</p><p>He’d been texting with Mycroft all week. When a visitor arrived with a box of baby bunnies she’d taken from her herb garden, he’d spent an hour trying to convince her to put them back - what she’d effectively done was kidnapped them. The experience led him to embark on a tirade to Mycroft about how the public not only didn’t know what they were doing when it came to wildlife, but they also didn’t like to listen to an expert when faced with one. In the end, he managed to convince her to put them back. Molly told him that she’d had three phone calls already with people talking about "abandoned" fawns and baby bunnies - called kits - and she was thinking of just leaving “Put the baby back” on a voicemail message for future callers. </p><p>They’d also shared photos of food they were eating - silly, artistic photos with dumb filters and hokey set-ups. Greg reheated soup for his lunch and added a sprig of basil on top “to make it fancy” and set it outside among the gold blossoms of <em> Zizea aurea </em> “for atmosphere.” Mycroft returned it with a photo of a granola bar sitting in a flower pot on a windowsill. The plant was dead.</p><p>Mycroft turned out to be knowledgeable on a number of subjects - world politics, environmental issues, theoretical physics, and American geography all seemed under his purview. Greg was beginning to suspect the man was an actual genius - and that appealed to him more than he thought. He mentioned one of his favorite podcasts was Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s StarTalk, and Mycroft was off discussing something called “Disc Accretion” and Greg didn't understand anything he said, but he was hot for it anyway.  </p><p>He should have known, though, since he worked with Sherlock, who as awkward and abrasive as he could be, was a genius who could deduce everything about your morning from the state of your shoelaces, it seemed. Yet, he’d found Sherlock off-putting before he realized Sherlock’s genius, so it wasn’t the same. Mycroft, though reserved, could actually socialize, and then his genius crept up on you. It was matter of fact, instead of peacocking.</p><p>“Dad?”</p><p>Greg snapped his attention to Peri, who laughed. “Oh my god, you are seeing someone!”</p><p>“I am not.” He crossed one leg over the other and sent a message to Jo.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Peri’s asked if i’m seeing anyone. What do? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> She’s old enough to know that her dad goes on dates. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> But...how much do I tell her? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Well, not about the sex obvs </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> OMG JO DONT EVEN JOKE </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> X-DDDDDDD </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> I just mean...if it’s a casual thing… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Listen, just tell her you have a friend, and you go on dates, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>you don’t have to mention that he’s leaving for England eventually </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When he does, just say it didn’t work out </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Dad? You’re ridiculous.” She flopped on the pillows on her end of the sofa. “I thought you’re always trying to <em> talk</em>, or whatever.”</p><p>“Just give me a sec, honey.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Ok. I’m telling her that I may have started seeing someone. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> It’ll be fine. </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Ok, now we can talk.”</p><p>“I’m all ears,” Peri said in a monotone, her eyes glued to the television.</p><p>“Hey, give me a break. I’m trying here.”</p><p>She turned her face to his. “Okay.”</p><p>“I have started seeing someone. It’s still very new, and we haven’t exactly figured everything out. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”</p><p>“What’s to figure out?”</p><p>“Well, we’ve only been on one date. We haven’t...committed to each other, or anything.”</p><p>“But you text a lot.”</p><p>Greg couldn’t stop a smile from lighting up his face. “Yeah. It’s...new and exciting. I really like texting with him.”</p><p>“Am I going to meet him?”</p><p>Greg’s stomach flipped. “Uh, would you want to?”</p><p>“Yeah. I gotta make sure he’s good enough for my dad.” Her mouth quirked up in the corners.</p><p>Greg laughed, his stomach easing from its somersaults. “I get that. Um, but let’s hold off. Nothing’s guaranteed just yet.”</p><p>She pouted. “Okay, fine. But as soon as you make it official? Though, really, you should be checking with me before you make it official.”</p><p>Greg snuggled further into the cushions as he huffed a laugh. “You got it. He’ll need the Peregrine Lestrade stamp of approval before we make it official.”</p><p>She smiled at him and said in a prim voice, “I’m so glad you see things my way.”</p><p>“Okay, now, your turn. Who’s this Markus D’amico?”</p><p>Peri’s eyes rolled to the back of her head. “<em>Dad</em>.”</p><p>“What? I thought we were talking here? I have to tell you all my secrets but you don’t tell me yours? What kind of arrangement is this?”</p><p>“Markus D’amico isn’t anyone but some guy with a pool. It’s the <em> pool </em> that matters.”</p><p>Greg grinned. “Well, if that’s all, then I approve.”</p><p>Peregrine hit him with a couch cushion. He grabbed his pillow and retaliated. It erupted into a flurry of pillow fighting, screeching, mock threats, and breathless laughter. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“You got plans this weekend?” Molly asked as she adjusted her ponytail. They were sitting together in the lunchroom of the nature center. Potted plants lined the windows. The table they ate at was an old, scuffed and scratched conference table littered with pen and pencil marks.</p><p>“Mm, yeah.” He was trying to make out a word almost completely rubbed out on the wooden surface. Sammy walked in just as he spoke. “Mycroft and I are going to do some birding on Sunday morning, and then head to Splash for brunch.”</p><p>“Ooo, Splash? Fancy.” Molly was picking at a plate of veggies and tofu.</p><p>“You have the nerdiest dates, man,” Sammy said as he opened the fridge. </p><p>“Hey, brunch isn’t nerdy.”</p><p>Sammy snickered. “Birding?”</p><p>“It’s something we both enjoy. It doesn’t have to be movies, clubs and sneaking around having public sex in parks.” Greg was never going to let Sammy down for the time he told him that he and Andy once did it in a park.</p><p>Sammy grinned. “No one saw us. And the thrill of getting caught? Sublime.”</p><p>Greg’s stomach turned as he chewed on Sammy’s statement. An old anger burbled up in him like something out of a garbage disposal. Before he could stop himself, the question was out of his mouth. “Is that why you go for other people’s men?”</p><p>Molly’s jaw dropped, and Sammy’s usually dark walnut skin might have paled a shade or two. </p><p>Shame washed through him. “Oh Jesus. I’m sorry. Sammy, it just hit a nerve, and I-”</p><p>“Yeah. Okay. Whatever.” He slammed the fridge door shut and left the room.</p><p>“Oh my god,” Molly said. “Greg?”</p><p>Greg put his head in his hands, his whole body thrumming with the synapse blasting sensation of mortification. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I’m fine with him, and then it’s like he says one thing, and I’m thrown right back there when it all went to shit.”</p><p>“It was two years ago.” A note of anger laced her voice.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I know, and I’ve had to work with him as a reminder for two years now. It...Jesus, I need to apologize to him.” Greg dropped his head over crossed arms. “It kind of drives me nuts that he’s having an affair with a married man.”</p><p>“He says Andy is dealing with a lot...just, you know… He’s not out and he needs to leave his wife and they have small kids- “</p><p>“I know all that, but it’s his wife I feel sorry for. Like, bad enough when she finds out her husband is gay, but when she discovers he’s been cheating on her?”</p><p>“Maybe he’s hoping she will. That way he doesn’t have to actually sit down and have the conversation. Maybe he’s not a very brave guy.”</p><p>“In which case, what the fuck does Sammy see in him?”</p><p>“Well, he told me he’s in love.”</p><p>Greg lifted his head and looked at her. He knew Molly and Sammy were friendly - working in close quarters for so long necessitated some familiarity and camaraderie, but for Sammy to admit something so emotional? They were closer than Greg thought.</p><p>“Don’t give me that look. What he did with Jack was wrong, but I’m not going to punish him for it forever.” Her lips pulled into a grimace.</p><p>Greg held her stare a moment longer, and then nodded, slowly. “Yeah. You’re right. I’ll do better.”</p><p>Molly gave him a worried look. “I hope so. I’m not sure Sammy will last much longer here if he thinks you two will never get along again. I think he really used to look up to you, and still does. He just...made a mistake, and even you said Jack manipulated him.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he said in a rush of breath. “I’ll do better. I wouldn't want him to leave.”</p><p>“He’s probably hit the trails, you know,” she said. “Probably went over by the overlook on the river. He told me that’s his favorite place to go and think.”</p><p>Greg pursed his lips, and pushed himself up from his seat. “Okay.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Greg rounded the swerve of the trail and walked uphill, picking his way over tree roots. The canopy opened to a rocky overhang. Sammy sat on one of the boulders, his face looking out over the river below. The surface shone in the bright sun like snow in the wintertime; a beautiful and placid sight.</p><p>Sammy, on the other hand, looked angry.</p><p>“Sammy?”</p><p>Sammy shoved away from the boulder and stalked toward Greg. “What gives you the right, man? Why do you have to be such a dick?”</p><p>Greg held up both hands. “I’m sorry, okay? I came to tell you that I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You can’t keep doing this. You pretend like things between us are fine - I thought they were fine! And then you turn on me and it isn’t fair!” Sammy threw his hands up and whirled around from Greg to face the view. “It fucks me up.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Greg tried to summon together something that would help Sammy understand. “It’s like...sometimes I’m fine, and then something hits me the wrong way -”</p><p>Sammy spun about and growled, “It happened almost two years ago. Two years. When are you going to grow up and get over it?” His teeth were bared. “Or at the very least, stop punishing me for it. I’m not Jack.”</p><p>The air left Greg’s lungs. He stood, his mouth agape and his arms hanging at his sides.</p><p>“Don’t follow me.” Sammy directed at him and pushed past him, heading back down the path and back toward the Preserve building.</p><p>Greg watched him go.</p><p><em> Oh fuck. I </em> have <em> been treating him like he’s Jack. </em></p><p>He drew in air, sucked it in deep, and blew it out through his lips. </p><p>The only person within reach that he could punish for the whole five years, for the downward spiral he experienced and his subsequent grief over the disaster of a relationship, had been Sammy. Who spent one night with Jack. </p><p>“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he breathed.</p><p>
  <em> You can’t go on punishing him forever.</em>
</p><p>They used to be friends. </p><p>But that was it, wasn’t it? Even if he and Jack had really been broken up like Jack had told Sammy, Sammy moved in pretty fast on tapping that ass. Greg expected more of him. Yeah, maybe it was a bit petty and needy, but he’d needed someone on his side then. Jo and Molly were there for him, but Sammy was like him - gay and enmeshed in the local community. And instead, Sammy had believed the venom from Jack’s mouth and turned his back on Greg.</p><p>Just like the rest of them.</p><p>Not long after the break up, Sammy had apologized. Had told him he realized Jack was a liar, that Greg had been wronged, that their friends and acquaintances were being manipulated by Jack. Sammy tried to be his ally.</p><p>And Greg kept shoving it back in his face.</p><p>“Goddamnit, I’m an ass.” He shuffled over to the boulder where Sammy had sat and lowered himself down onto the hard surface. The ledge looked over the trees below, standing on either side of the river like sentries in the afternoon sun. His eyes caught the shape of a bald eagle taking off from a tall pine and soaring through the sky. He averted his eyes and looked again to the river.</p><p>“'<em>And here is the serpent again, dragging himself out from his nest of darkness, his cave under the black rocks...his winter-death</em>.'” The eagle cried out and dragged Greg from his thoughts. Their call reminded Greg of gulls along the shore. </p><p>Summer was coming. Fourth of July weekend approached. Last year, he took the entire week of the fourth of July off and spent it in a drunken haze on Cape Cod, partying with Damien. They hit every gay club, bar, drag show, and the hidden nude beach. Mornings were spent laying out on sand, recovering, letting the sun bathe all their parts (after a good lather of sunscreen), and then a lunch of sandwiches and beer. Nighttime they did all the partying again. They both got and gave handjobs in bathrooms and flirted with one another - but that was a line they hadn’t crossed since their twenties. </p><p>Last summer, Greg had been a complete mess and ignored Sammy any time he saw him. He spoke to him only when he had to for professional reasons. </p><p>Sammy was young. Twelve years younger than Greg. Jack was closer to Sammy in age, and the fucker knew how to capitalize on the weakness of others. Sammy’s weakness was tied into his vanity and desirability. Greg could just hear in his head the lines Jack would have used to convince Sammy into bed with him. Things were already shit in their relationship but Greg had still been...what? Hopeful? A sad sack of shit still hoping his cheating and lying boyfriend would stop what he was doing and realize Greg was his one and only?</p><p>Now summer approached, and Greg was wearing down as the memories associated with the season came upon him. It had been the middle of summer when everything between him and Jack exploded. When the extent of the lies and the cheating was uncovered, when the rumors crashed like waves through their friend group, and when the backlash against Greg daring to leave Jack smacked him over the top of his head and sent him headlong and spinning, excommunicated from a group that was a large part of his identity. </p><p>And here he was, impotent against a man who haunted him still, and taking out his anger on someone who wanted to be his friend. His ally.</p><p>“Jesus fuck.” The river wound its way out of sight around a copse of trees. The eagle flew out of sight. </p><p>Sometimes nature reminded a person of just how fucking small they really are. How unimportant. And sometimes, there was a lot of fucking relief in that. Because it made their problems that much smaller. </p><p>And, sometimes, the person is buoyed by a sense of being part of something larger.</p><p>It was time for Greg to grow up and get over it.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. As if Gravity Was No Concern</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>On behalf of it being my birthday week, you lovely readers get two chapters! Happy Day for everyone! &lt;3</p><p>Thank you, thank you, for all of your comments and kudos. I feel blessed every time.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Water striders are seemingly magical insects that "stride" along the surface of water. The secret to this ability lies in their legs - multiple tiny hairs that capture air, buoying them above the water. It works for them particularly because water molecules attract each other and bond together, creating this delicate membrane at the surface with the air above and the water below. Water striders glide across this membrane, staying upright and surprisingly dry. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>So maybe it isn't magic. But science is its own brand of fascination, illuminating the hows and whys of the world around us the best it can with the tools we currently have. Doesn't make the magical seeming things any less valuable, or less profound. Understanding how small beings walk on water as if it were as solid as the ground, or how water behaves under different conditions, can lead us to a world of wonder.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It's in the details: wonder. It's all in the details.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>After Saturday yoga with Jo and Peri, Greg rushed home to vacuum his floors and make his bed with fresh sheets. A pile of cat puke on the sofa surprised him - <em> are you fucking kidding me? </em> - but Scratch seemed otherwise himself, so he pushed the worry from his mind and scrubbed the couch cushion clean. Followed with a shower, Greg decided to forgo shaving and dress simply in cargo shorts and a navy polo.</p><p>A salad he made the night before sat in the fridge. He figured the man would appreciate it after he noticed Mycroft’s lighter fare in the meal photos they’d shared. </p><p>The chicken was on the grill by the time his doorbell rang.  </p><p>Mycroft looked relaxed in a white button up and slim fitting khakis, offering up a bottle of white wine with a fancy looking label.</p><p>Greg grinned. “Another Connecticut wine?”</p><p>Mycroft bowed his head. “This is a new favorite of mine from France. The <em> Chevalier Montrachet Grand Cru </em>, with hints of chestnut and limeflower. Exquisite and light on the palate. I think we shall enjoy it.”</p><p>Greg stood back to let him in. “Sounds delicious. Why don’t you open it up and I’ll get the chicken from the grill. The wine glasses are in the cabinet by the fridge.”</p><p>“Of course.” </p><p><em> Damn, his voice is just perfect. </em> He walked out the back door to the grill with a slow smolder in his groin. “There’s time for that later,” he told himself. The telltale arousal crept over his body anyhow. Mycroft looked <em> good </em>, all tall and summery in his light colored outfit. Stylish shoes, too. </p><p>He got the food off the grill and onto a plate, turned off the grill, and readied himself mentally. A nuthatch flew past and landed on the trunk of a tree, performing its miraculous little feat of walking down the trunk while facing the ground, as if gravity was of no concern. He watched the bird, letting his mind sink into the peace of the moment. </p><p>The distraction worked as his arousal cooled and he went back into the house feeling able to get through dinner without jumping the man’s bones.</p><p>Except no. </p><p>Mycroft stood with a wine glass in each hand, a soft smile on his face, and a hungry look in his eyes that had nothing to do with the plate of chicken Greg held. Arousal flushed his system again almost instantly.</p><p>Mycroft arched an eyebrow at Greg’s plate. “Chicken? Though, what’s that bit there?”</p><p>“That is fake chicken,” Greg laughed, his eyes on the bit of exposed collarbone at the top of Mycroft’s shirt. “It’s made from mushrooms.”</p><p>The hungry look disappeared from Mycroft’s face. “Why not just eat actual chicken?”</p><p>“This is healthier for me and for the planet,” Greg said simply. He placed the plate on the counter and gave Mycroft a challenging stare. “You’re not one of those people that likes to give vegetarians a hard time, are you?”</p><p>“Not at all, Greg. Forgive my impertinence. May I placate you with a glass of a very fine wine?”</p><p>“Now you’re talking.” Greg accepted the glass and took a sip. “Mmm. Delicious.”</p><p>“How long have you been a vegetarian?”</p><p>“Oh, about twenty years,” Greg said. “But, as I’ve said before, I eat meat a couple times a year. So, I’m not particularly strict.”</p><p>
  <em> Why are we talking about this? The chicken’s off the grill. The salad can wait. </em>
</p><p>He stepped closer to Mycroft, who caught the movement and swept an appreciative glance up and down Greg’s body. A charge built in the stretch of air between them. </p><p>“Yes,” Mycroft said to some unspoken question. Greg took his wine glass and set both glasses on the table. He pressed his body against Mycroft’s and backed him up against the refrigerator, their mouths meeting, lipping at one another. </p><p>He sucked on Mycroft’s lower lip and the answering moan hit Greg like a lightning bolt. He rubbed his erection against Mycroft’s and Mycroft spread his legs, which lowered him just a bit and lined them up perfectly to slide shaft to shaft. </p><p>“Jesus Christ, this feels good,” Greg said as he moved to Mycroft’s neck to suck and kiss and nip. </p><p>“Yes,” Mycroft hissed and moved his hips against Greg’s. </p><p>Greg popped open the buttons of Mycroft’s shirt. He kissed that length of collarbone he was eyeing earlier, followed the planes of his pecs, and bit softly on Mycroft’s nipples.</p><p>“Oh God,” Mycroft breathed, and tangled his hands in Greg’s hair.</p><p>Greg dropped to his knees. His hands smoothed up Mycroft’s torso, found his nipples, and kept playing, stroking, pinching. He buried his face next to Mycroft’s zipper, rubbing his cheek alongside the man’s impressive length, pushing his nose into the crease of his khakis. </p><p>He heard Mycroft gasp, and he looked up to meet blue-grey eyes, looking at him with just the slightest hint of wonder. </p><p>“Yeah?” Greg said as he brought one hand down to Mycroft’s zipper.</p><p>Mycroft nodded, his eyes wide.</p><p>Greg unbuckled his belt and undid the button. He used his teeth to ease the zipper down. Mycroft watched the whole time, and licked his lips with a slow movement of his tongue. </p><p>Greg’s arousal burned low in his belly. His cock pressed against his shorts. The kitchen linoleum was unforgiving on his knees, but he couldn’t be bothered, not with the prize set before him. </p><p>A thin bit of silky material parted him from the hot, rigid flesh of Mycroft’s erection. Greg ran his hands along Mycroft’s thighs, fisted the material, and pulled the khakis down past his hips. The outline of Mycroft’s long, slender cock showed perfectly though pale blue silk briefs. Greg mouthed the shape, the warmth and scent of Mycroft’s cock clear through the material. Mycroft made small, needy noises in his throat.</p><p>Greg yanked the briefs down and swallowed his cock nearly whole. He inhaled the pleasant odor of Mycroft’s most intimate place - all musk, soap, and more musk. The cockhead hit the back of his throat. He relaxed the muscles as much as possible while his tongue worked along the bottom. He looked up just in time to see Mycroft slam his head back against the fridge. Greg watched him as he bobbed up and down. Mycroft’s hand went into his hair. </p><p>“Condom?” he said. </p><p>Greg pulled off with a pop. “Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Wait here.” His head spun as he shot up to a stand.</p><p>Mycroft’s hands grabbed his shoulders. “You alright?”</p><p>“Yeah, just dizzy for a minute,” Greg laughed as his head cleared. “I’ll get the condom.”</p><p>He ran up the stairs and into his bedroom to grab the box. Rushing back, he nearly tripped over the carpet in the living room.</p><p>Mycroft was still leaning against the fridge, his hands partially obscuring Greg’s view of his cock hanging out of his briefs. A slight flush and a bashful smile marked his face.</p><p>Greg grinned. “You’re gorgeous.”</p><p>Mycroft’s blush deepened. “Come here.”</p><p>Greg rushed him, their mouths smashing together in hungry, open kisses. He slid in a slow sinuous move to the floor, kissing Mycroft along his belly and the tip of his uncut cock. He moved the foreskin back and forth, watching the glistening head appear and disappear. Licked it again and smiled when Mycroft let out a gasp. He ripped open the condom packet and rolled it down, sliding that hard flesh back into his mouth. Mycroft’s fingers tunneled through Greg’s hair, and Greg hummed. His fingers tightened, but didn’t move Greg’s head for him, just held it, which zipped straight to Greg’s cock. Greg held the base of Mycroft’s shaft as he sucked and licked and tightened his lips around the head. Mycroft whined and moaned and squeezed his fingers in the roots of Greg’s hair.</p><p>Greg opened the front of his own shorts and pulled out his cock, fisting it with a tight grip. </p><p>“God, Greg, this feels fantastic.” Mycroft thrust his hips lightly and Greg hummed in answer. “Your mouth is incredible.”</p><p>Greg swallowed down as much as he could. The spongy head hit the back of his palate. He pulled off as he gagged. “Oh, sorry, but I love doing this,” he said roughly and sucked Mycroft’s cock back into his mouth to try again.</p><p>“Ah, God, Greg.” Mycroft whimpered. “Oh, I am, I’m…”</p><p>Greg’s dick stiffened further. A pleasurable tension escalated in his groin, and he jacked his cock as the pleasure spun tighter, compressing inward and then spiraling outward, rippling across his body in a sweet burst, his come spurting across the floor and hitting the lower edge of the refrigerator. He released his cock and looked up at Mycroft, who watched him with wide eyes as he lifted his hand so Mycroft could see drops of his semen smeared across his forefinger and thumb. He moved off Mycroft’s cock just long enough to lick his own come from his hand. </p><p>Mycroft breathed hard and heavy, licked his lips. “Oh, fuck.”</p><p>Greg grinned and went back down on the man’s cock. He went for the gold, bobbing his head up and down and sucking hard. His hand, wet from saliva, slid between Mycroft’s thighs and cradled his balls. Mycroft made a noise like he was releasing air with a loud grunt and his body went rigid. Greg hummed around his cock again as the man came in the condom with a long groan.</p><p>When Mycroft twitched from sensitivity, Greg backed off. He looked up with a wide grin as he tucked his cock back inside his boxers and buttoned himself up. Mycroft leaned down with one hand on his shoulder. “That was...the most provocative thing I have seen in some time.”</p><p>Greg chuckled. “Good. I loved it.” He grabbed the edge of the counter next to the refrigerator and pulled himself up, leaning Mycroft up against the fridge as he did. They kissed. Greg removed the condom and tied it, tossing it into the kitchen trash can. </p><p>Mycroft zipped up.</p><p>“Oops, watch where you’re stepping there,” Greg said.</p><p>“Oh, my.” Mycroft stepped away from the refrigerator.</p><p>Greg giggled nervously and grabbed a paper towel. “I’ll just clean it up.”</p><p>“I’m going to, uh, wash up. And then I suppose we’ll actually have lunch?”</p><p>“The chicken should be at the perfect temp to join the salad,” Greg said, chortling a bit as he kneeled to wipe up the floor. And the fridge. </p><p>Mycroft winked at him. “Perfect.”</p><p>Greg washed his hands at the sink. He got out two large bowls, and retrieved the salad from the refrigerator.</p><p>The salad was delicious, and the chicken - and his fake chicken - were indeed at the perfect temperature. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They chose a local sushi place for dinner. Mycroft told Greg about his travels to Japan and the various delicacies he tried while there. Greg ate an avocado roll and a sweet potato tempura roll, and listened with different levels of horror as Mycroft described some of his meals.</p><p>“You’re serious?”</p><p>“Very.”</p><p>“Listen, I don’t normally yuck someone’s yum, but I’m kind of grossed out.”</p><p>Mycroft laughed, like a clear ringing of a deep bell. “I beg your pardon? Did you say ‘yuck someone’s yum’?”</p><p>“Yeah, it's something we say to the summer camp kids. All sorts of opinions being tossed everywhere, and kids can get mean, y’know?” Greg added some pickled ginger and wasabi to his next piece of avocado roll. “So we say, ‘don’t yuck my yum.’ A kind of camp rule.”</p><p>“Sounds sensible.” Mycroft ate another piece of his sashimi. “Does Sherlock provide a role in your summer camp?”</p><p>“Sherlock is surprisingly good with kids. And, they like him. A lot. So he helps out on some activities. Usually involving rotten log hotel or pollinator catching.”</p><p>“Rotten log hotel?”</p><p>“All rotting logs are intricate ecosystems and homes for a lot of little critters. Sherlock helps identify a lot of the invertebrates, but also mosses, algae, and fungi. He makes it sound really fascinating. One of the games the kids like to play is ‘Stump Sherlock.’ They try to find things he can’t identify. It sends him into a tizzy that gets all the kids laughing.”</p><p>“Laughing?” Mycroft looked both surprised and delighted. “Is that so? I must admit I am relieved it seems to have worked out so well for him here. Mummy sending him out here to ‘the sticks’ of Connecticut, as Mrs. Hudson puts it, seemed a bit...excessive as a preventative measure.”</p><p>Greg’s curiosity piqued - one, for what could have possibly sent Sherlock packing to Connecticut, and two, the disbelief that the word “mummy” was just uttered from Mycroft’s mouth. “Um...I won’t ask you for details, but I hope he wasn’t in any kind of trouble.”</p><p>“Nothing to worry you. Our mother is very taken with public appearance and how one should act. Sherlock didn’t meet her standards.”</p><p>Greg’s heart squeezed to think of Sherlock cast out like that. “Harsh.”</p><p>“Quite.” </p><p>“And...Mummy, was it?”</p><p>“Yes.” Mycroft patted his lips with the cloth napkin.</p><p><em> Okay then. </em> “What’s she like?”</p><p>“Overbearing matriarch of a dying branch of the aristocracy.”</p><p>“Oh. That’s, quite the description.” <em> Aristocracy? </em></p><p>Mycroft smiled, though he wasn't happy. “Quite.”</p><p>“And your dad?”</p><p>“Father is at her beck and call. He’s a musician and painter. He was a bit of a spendthrift before he married Mummy, or so I’m told. She put him on the straight and narrow. Gave up her career to support his, and to have us - the heir and the spare, and to flourish as a socialite.”</p><p>“<em> The heir and the spare? </em> Is that still a thing?”</p><p>“In some places.” Mycroft’s mouth quirked. </p><p>“Are you close to them?”</p><p>“Not remotely, though I do see them from time to time in London. I usually try to take up the hours with museums...and musicals.” He shuddered as he said it.</p><p>“Not a fan of musicals, then?” Greg’s tongue stuck out between his teeth as he gave a teasing grin.</p><p>“I think some musicals are exquisite. Unfortunately, my taste and my mother’s are not on par with one another.”</p><p>“Peri’s really into musicals. She listens over and over and over to her favorite soundtracks. Drives Jo and I crazy.”</p><p>“I am almost afraid to ask.”</p><p>“<em> Rent </em> and <em> Les Mis </em>.”</p><p>“Dear Lord, if I have to hear Les Mis one more time…”</p><p>Greg laughed. “Lately, she’s started listening to <em> Into the Woods </em>.”</p><p>“A Sondheim fan, then?” Mycroft smiled. “Acceptable.”<br/>
“Right now, yeah. By the end of the summer I might throw her speakers out the window.”</p><p>Mycroft chuckled. A moment passed where they ate in silence. Nothing awkward or heavy. Simply enjoyable.</p><p>“And, your parents?” Mycroft said, almost tentatively as his eyes shifted up to Greg’s and then away.</p><p>“Well, I never knew my dad. He left when I was a baby.”</p><p>“My apologies.”</p><p>“‘S okay. Mom did her best in raising us. My brother Dan is two years older. He doesn’t remember him. So, just the three of us, and I think we turned out just fine.” <em> Except for the lack of family unity, but so what. </em></p><p>“And what does Dan do?”</p><p>“He’s a mechanic. Opened his own shop in the town we grew up in. Got married to his high school sweetheart. Has two kids, Nate and Evie.” He chewed his bite and swallowed. “His wife died while they were young. Breast cancer.”</p><p>“You mentioned that. Losing a spouse is an unfathomable thing.” His voice was somber.</p><p>“Yeah. He was never quite the same after, but mom helped him raise the kids.”</p><p>“How old are they?”</p><p>“Nate just turned eighteen. Evie turns thirteen this year.”</p><p>“And Peregrine is fifteen?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I might infer from your demeanor they were not too happy about your situation with Jo at the time.”</p><p>“Nah. And the difference is, they never quite got over it.” Greg’s stomach turned with the thought of them judging him over his life choices. “My brother and I used to talk a lot, but when I came out, we talked less. He was never...overly bigoted about it, but he wasn’t outwardly supportive either.” He stared at the last piece of avocado roll. “My mother thought it was a sign that I do like women, and she thought I could work it out with another woman.”</p><p>“Another woman? Not Jo?”</p><p>“No. Jo is...not my mother’s first choice,” Greg said.</p><p>Mycroft snapped his head back. “Oh?”</p><p>The old, conflicted feelings bubbled up.</p><p>“She’s...complicated,” Greg breathed out. “And ignorant. She’s never lived outside the town, and it’s a tiny town in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere. Lots and lots of white people. Lots and lots of straight, white people. They say things like ‘I’m not racist but,’ and ‘I’m not a bigot, but…’ It’s an epidemic of apologetic racism.” He looked out over the other tables, wondering if anyone could hear him. “Not to say Connecticut doesn’t have racism. Sammy got pulled over in some rich, white neighborhood once and they searched his car just to fuck with him. His mom was always on him about staying close to home. She’s afraid he’s going to get shot.” Greg met Mycroft’s eyes. “Connecticut has deep pockets of racism that have a lot to do with class and money. Here, you can see institutionalized racism at work. Where my mom lives, it’s a lack of exposure to people who aren’t white and to people who weren’t brought up the same way everyone’s been brought up in that town.”</p><p>Mycroft watched him with soft eyes. “Do you fear for your daughter?”</p><p>“Sometimes. It’s bad enough that as a woman, she’ll face challenges I never have to face. And as a black woman?” Greg shook his head. “She’ll have to work even harder.”</p><p>Mycroft nodded. “I am at a loss as to what to say, Greg. However, I imagine it is some comfort to Peregrine that her father is in her corner, as they say.”</p><p>Greg smiled, though it didn’t quite ease the small pain and fear that hid in a nook of his chest. “Always. It’s what a good father does.”</p><p>Mycroft lay his hand across Greg’s forearm and squeezed.</p><p>Greg didn’t want the evening to end. They’d talked all day about all sorts of things, like American football and British rugby - Mycroft explained the game to Greg. Greg talked his ear off about how he started in falconry and what the licensing process was. They shared a love for film noir - both having been captured by <em> L.A. Confidential </em>as teens, and then working their way backwards through the classics of previous decades. Greg was reading the books his daughter was reading, he admitted with a sheepish laugh, but then defended his choices as the dystopian trends of YA fiction spoke to very real human fears regarding climate change, zoonotic disease, nuclear war, broadening fascism, and the rise of A.I. Mycroft preferred to read memoirs and biographies. </p><p>It wasn’t long before the check was paid - by Mycroft who insisted - and the two were headed back to Greg’s house in his car. They drove home in relative quiet, the car speakers softly playing music from Greg’s phone. </p><p>“What band are we listening to?”</p><p>“Avett Brothers. I’m a big fan. Saw them a few months ago with Jo and Peri. Brandi Carlile opened for them. Great show.”</p><p>“Mm. They are rather skilled with their craft, aren’t they?”</p><p>“Yeah. We didn’t talk music, did we?”</p><p>“No, we didn’t.”</p><p>“I used to be all classic rock and 80’s. I’ve since taken a nosedive into folk and indie.”</p><p>“I don’t listen to music very often. I might listen to opera or a classical composer from time to time, but I prefer...silence, to be honest.”</p><p>“Oh. Should I turn it off?”</p><p>“Not on my account. I like to see you enjoying yourself.”</p><p>“Oh.” Greg’s insides warmed at that. “Okay. Good.”</p><p>It wasn’t long before they pulled into Greg’s driveway. The Lexus Mycroft drove gleamed in the headlights. Greg turned the engine off and the two men got out.</p><p>“So, um, I had a really good time today,” Greg said. “But, uh, would you like to come in?”</p><p>“I think I can be convinced,” and Mycroft’s voice dripped with ardor.</p><p>Greg's cock plumped. He grabbed Mycroft’s hand and nearly pulled him along to the front door. Scratch meowed at them in greeting. Greg ignored him and yanked Mycroft toward the bedroom.</p><p>They went wild with one another’s clothes. Greg might have popped one of Mycroft’s buttons and tripped over the corner of the bed, bumping his hip so hard hot pain flared in an outward spiral. Mycroft landed on the bed, laughing, while Greg swore and held his hip.</p><p>“Are you quite alright?” he said, wiping one corner of his eyes.</p><p>“Jesus, fuck, that corner’s sharp!”</p><p>Mycroft snorted with laughter again, so Greg jumped him, pushed him down on the bed and dove in for a kiss. They bumped noses but as soon as their mouths were properly aligned, they pressed their hips together and frotted velvet-skinned cock against velvet-skinned cock. Mouth on mouth, tongues tangled, grunts and passionate groans, and thrusting, thrusting, thrusting as their dicks slid together.</p><p>“God, you’re gorgeous,” Greg broke free to say.</p><p>“Greg,” Mycroft whined.</p><p>“You feel so good, god, so good. Where do you want me to touch you?”</p><p>“Just keep doing this, just keep pushing against me.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Oh, yes.”</p><p>Greg slid his hand over Mycroft’s chin and his fingers into his mouth. “Suck,” he ordered. Mycroft sucked, and twirled his tongue over the tips. Greg groaned and thrust against him, their skin warmed and sweaty as they pushed their hips together. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck.”</p><p>He pulled his fingers from Mycroft’s mouth and encircled their cocks. “You like this?”</p><p>“Oh, yes, oh yes, yes, yes.”</p><p>“You like the feel of my hand on your cock, huh? Like it when I touch you like this? God, Mycroft, you’re so big. That first time, when you fucked me, I was so full of you, I could feel you up in my stomach. You stretched me open so good and you dicked me so well, I felt like I could have come all over you without touching my cock.”</p><p>Mycroft let out a whine, his eyes squeezed shut and his head tossed back, hitting the mattress. </p><p>“You gonna come for me? God, I bet you’ll get us both so wet, I’ll be able to jerk my cock covered in your come.”</p><p>Mycroft cried out. Greg could feel warm liquid spill over his hand. He let go of Mycroft’s and grabbed his own, jerking hard, thinking of the man laid out beneath him.</p><p>“Talk to me,” he said.</p><p>Mycroft panted. “God, Greg, my - I can’t think.”</p><p>“Yeah, cuz I just made you come all over yourself, and now I’m going to cover you -” Greg’s vision whited out and his mouth opened in a soundless cry as he spurted, once, twice, and a third time, semen streaking across Mycroft’s torso. He continued stroking himself, and got one last aftershock as more dribbled out. </p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Greg said as he rolled over onto his side on the mattress.</p><p>“Indeed,” Mycroft replied.</p><p>Greg panted and laughed. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Greg grabbed some tissues and helped Mycroft to clean up.</p><p>
  <em> Do I invite him to stay? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You’re lovely. Stay. Stay with me, please. </em>
</p><p>He turned his head to look at the beautiful man in his bed.</p><p>Mycroft’s chest rose up and down. He sat up. “Greg. Thank you.”</p><p>Greg lifted his brows.</p><p>“This has been...wonderful. I’m afraid I must take my leave.”</p><p>Greg was reminded of their first date, when Mycroft disappeared for almost two weeks. </p><p>
  <em> Because it’s sex. It’s just sex and companionship and that’s it. Grow up and get over it. </em>
</p><p>He put on a smile and sat up in the bed. “Okay. Thanks for today. Stay in touch?”</p><p>Mycroft looked at him. “Yes. We’ll text.”</p><p>“Great,” he said as he flopped back in bed and put his arms behind his head. </p><p>Mycroft pulled on his clothes, and Greg watched, appreciating the slim length of the man.  </p><p>Once he was all tucked and belted and buttoned, Greg got up from the bed and slipped on his bathrobe. “I’ll walk you to the door.”</p><p>As he walked down the stairs, Scratch rushed past his ankles. Mycroft tripped on the steps behind him and Greg caught him. “Jeez, you okay?”</p><p>“It was the cat!”</p><p>“The cat?”</p><p>“I uh, he was on the step.”</p><p>“Yeah, I felt him pass.”</p><p>“Apologies. Thanks for catching me.” His voice was quiet, embarrassed.</p><p>“Anytime,” Greg said. </p><p>At the front door, Greg thought about throwing his arms around Mycroft and kissing him goodbye. But that was a couple thing, wasn’t it? And they weren’t a couple, right?</p><p>“Thank you for a lovely time,” Mycroft said in that polished voice of his.</p><p>“My pleasure,” was Greg’s automatic reply. He opened the door.</p><p>Mycroft paused for a moment, but then darted out the door. “Goodnight, Greg,” he said.</p><p>It was all very awkward.</p><p>“Goodnight, Mycroft.” His heart squeezed.</p><p>Greg let out his breath in a rush, and shut the door, leaning his forehead against it.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Cowbird</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Like us, hawks have photoreceptors in their eyes that allow them to see. Unlike us, hawks possess three types of photoreceptors. Humans possess only two.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The two we share are cones and rods. Cones allow us to perceive color while rods allow us to see from dark to light. Humans generally number 200,000 cones per millimeter along the retina. Hawks possess around five times as many cones as humans, which allows them to see prey from a long distance. And the third type of photoreceptor found in birds? Double cones. Double cones may allow birds to see more colors than humans, and perceive or near perceive ultraviolet light. For hawks, it allows them to see the urine of meadow voles. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Meadow voles are mice-sized rodents who live in, you guessed it, meadows. They also mark their territories with their urine. Fortunate for the hawk, unfortunate for them: inviting their doom with a welcome mat at the door.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Molly lined up the square pots on the bench. Today was “up-potting day,” the day wherein employees helped Molly take tiny sprouts from small pots and plant them in larger pots. Most plant species went into the ground after that. Several needed more time to increase with the potting system.</p><p>Greg gently lifted one plant and its soil from a pot and placed it in the next size up. Sweat gathered under his arms and in the center of his back in the heat of the greenhouse. His back ached a bit, but the work was soothing, repetitive. Contemplative with the air redolent of earth.</p><p>“So, come on, you haven’t said anything about your date,” Molly said as she wrote out labels for the pots.</p><p>“Well, we haven’t had much time together.”</p><p>“Not my fault. I’ve been busy in the greenhouse.”</p><p>“I know. And the school programs have been sucking the life out of Sammy and I.” Daily field trips from elementary students in the surrounding towns had filled their morning hours. </p><p>“Good grief. So, come on!”</p><p>It’d been a couple days since he’d heard from Mycroft. The lack of communication left him feeling unbalanced, uncertain. Mycroft hadn’t responded to his last text message. But, the man was in New York City at the United Nations building. Certainly he had more important things to do than text Greg.</p><p>Sherlock appeared in the door of the greenhouse just as Greg opened his mouth to answer. He shut it. </p><p>“Thanks for coming,” Molly said, her voice a bit too high and a bit too bright. Greg couldn’t help his smile, but he kept his head low.</p><p>“Molly, Lestrade.” Sherlock was dressed to the nines as always. He slid on a pair of gardening gloves that looked freshly washed, and possibly even pressed. They definitely weren’t from this greenhouse. </p><p>Greg had already tried to get him to dress more plainly in the past, but apparently the man didn’t care about wearing expensive clothing while digging in dirt. And he didn’t miss Molly’s furtive glances at Sherlock’s slender form, particularly his rear end.</p><p>He elbowed her, almost causing her to collide into a pile of four-inch square plastic pots.</p><p>‘What gives?’ she mouthed.</p><p>Greg tossed a look at Sherlock’s ass, and winked at her.</p><p>She reddened like the skin of an apple. </p><p>“I’ll get started on the <em> Pycnanthemum mutifolium</em>,” Sherlock announced as he picked up a tray of green seedlings.</p><p>“Er, thanks,” Molly said as she pushed back some hair with her gloved hand, leaving behind a small smudge of earth on her forehead.</p><p>Molly was cute. As Jo would say, she could ‘get it.’ Why she spent so much time mooning after Sherlock, who seemed about as interested as a hawk would be in a strawberry, was beyond Greg. </p><p><em> Uh oh. </em> Molly was looking at him with a quirk of her lips. She glanced at Sherlock and back at him. He didn’t like the look in her eyes as she said, “So, um, Sherlock, it was really nice meeting Mycroft. Is he going to be by more often?”</p><p>Sherlock’s lip curled as he growled - actually <em> growled </em> - and he turned his face to her. “Absolutely not. That pompous arse can’t keep his big nose out of my business. He is here to <em> spy </em> on me, and I won’t have it.” He turned back to the tray, squeezed his shoulders up by his ears, released them, and turned to face them again. “However, should he offer one of you money to inform on me, consider taking it. We could split the profits.”</p><p>Greg’s eyes bugged as he and Molly swapped incredulous stares. “Say what?” he asked.</p><p>Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, “You heard me.” He turned back to the tray of seedlings and reached for the plastic pots.</p><p>“Did you know your accent gets thicker when you’re upset about something?” Greg asked.</p><p>Sherlock paused. “Molly, if I have to deal with this idiocy while here, I won’t be available for future support.”</p><p>Molly narrowed her eyes at Greg.</p><p>“Sorry.” Greg shrugged his shoulders as he looked down at the little green sprout he was about to move into a new pot. “That was rude. You’d know, Sherlock, since you’re pretty rude yourself.” </p><p>He peered at Sherlock, relieved to see the upward tug at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth.</p><p>Molly ignored both of them and focused on label-writing with her black sharpie. Greg kept up his part of their little assembly line. </p><p>“So, tell me about your date,” Molly said, on the side of too casual.</p><p>Alarm flashed through him. He did not want to talk about his date with Mycroft with Sherlock present - especially after his little rant about Mycroft spying on him. He gave Molly a <em> look </em>. </p><p>Molly smiled, her eyes all wide innocence. “You don’t have to say details, just tell me the gist.”</p><p>Greg thought there was a minor hitch in Sherlock’s movements. In all likelihood, if he’d just talked to Molly about his date without mentioning a name, Sherlock would have barely paid attention. The beekeeper never partook in this kind of conversation. But, now that Molly had made a point about it, Greg could see that Sherlock’s interest was piqued. </p><p>However, if he refused to say anything...would that make it worse?</p><p>“He came over for lunch.” His face heated at the thought of what they did against his refrigerator. “We had a really nice time.”</p><p>“Just nice?”</p><p>“Well, yeah. You said you don't want details…”</p><p>“Well, I don’t want those kinds of details,” she said, laughing.</p><p>“Well, that was like half our day!” </p><p>“Oh my god.” She giggled. “You’re ridiculous.”</p><p>“What? What else do you do with a new relationship?”</p><p>“I don’t kiss and tell!” Her ears burned red and her attention shifted to Sherlock, and then quickly back down to her labeling.</p><p>“Right. Well, you asked about our day,” he teased.</p><p>“So, it is a relationship?”</p><p>“It’s something, anyway.”</p><p>“Excellent. Anything else besides that? Lunch was ‘nice?’” </p><p>“Yeah. You know, he’s really easy to talk to. We did the whole getting to know each other thing. We talked about what we enjoy doing, and books, movies, so on. A little bit about our families.” <em> Matriarch of a dying branch of the aristocracy</em>. God, he couldn’t wait to tell Molly about that bit. He glanced at Sherlock, who was perfunctory in his work at the table, his focus on the plants as his hands moved swiftly.</p><p>“So, then this whole friends with benefits thing is working out for you.” </p><p>“Yeah,” he said as his stomach whirled. “Yeah, it is.”</p><p>“Why only friends with benefits?” Sherlock’s deep voice cut in. He turned his gaze onto Greg. “Your past relationship doesn’t suggest a casual nature when it comes to romantic attachments.”</p><p>Greg stared at him. “You don’t know anything about my past relationships.”</p><p>“You were in a relationship with an unfaithful man for a number of years. You’ve since avoided the topic of dating, particularly set-ups for you, and likely have participated in some cottaging since then, but that’s not your thing, not really. You’re a sentimental fool, and when you moan and complain about your situation, it is apparent to everyone that you’re looking for the <em> One </em>,” Sherlock said this as if it pained him. “But you’ve given up on the idea, nearly.” Then Sherlock stopped and looked at him - really looked at him. “Yes, you did. But this person showed up, and now you’re hopeful though I believe you’re striving for casual, but why? Has this person told you they would only do casual? You wouldn’t normally stand for that. You’ve been moody, elated at times, distracted, and overly glum for some reason at other times. All the signs of an early biochemical-induced infatuation.”</p><p>Greg’s heart picked up. “Listen, it’s just not an ideal situation. He’s not from here -”</p><p>“Oh.” Sherlock’s voice had a grave sense of finality to it. “<em>Oh. </em> No. No, no, no, no. That’s not possible.”</p><p>“What?” Now Greg’s heart galloped like a horse loose from the barn. </p><p>Sherlock glanced at Molly and back to Greg. “He wouldn’t stoop to that, would he?”</p><p>“Who?” Though he knew - <em> Sherlock knows </em> - but maybe he could pretend ignorance and Sherlock would go away. </p><p>“Don’t play dumb, Lestrade. It doesn’t suit you.”</p><p><em> That was almost a compliment</em>.</p><p>Sherlock spat in a low stream of words: “Mycroft doesn’t do relationships. This is low for him. What am I saying? He’s the most dangerous man in Britain. I just didn’t realize seduction was in his arsenal. Oh, Mycroft, how <em> base </em>.” </p><p>“Sherlock,” Molly said, her voice edged with warning.</p><p>“Wait, did you say the most dangerous man in Britain?” Greg rewound Sherlock’s words. “What the hell does that mean?”</p><p>“Well of course he wouldn’t be forthright with you. Tell me, Greg, in between your time in the sheets, does he ask questions about me and my time here?”</p><p>A chill bit into Greg’s gut. “Well, yeah, but he’s your brother. Brothers ask about each other, particularly if one of them’s an ass and won’t talk to the other one.” </p><p>“What it must be like in your vapid state of being, that tiny mind - much like the brain of one of your birds.”</p><p>“Sherlock!” Molly said as she placed her labels down on the bench with a thwack.</p><p>Sherlock ignored her. “Mycroft doesn’t do anything without an ulterior motive, and likewise, he doesn’t do relationships. As you’re so fond of saying, Lestrade, do the math.” Sherlock turned to his tray of plants.</p><p>Greg stared hard at the square frame of shoulders. His face burned like a torch and his stomach churned like a sewage pump station. He put down the pot he’d been holding, and with a glacial slowness, took a step back from the garden bench.</p><p>Molly’s eyes riveted to him, her brow creased and her lips parted. “Greg -”</p><p>He held up one hand to halt her speech. Sherlock’s hands moved about in front of him as he continued lifting tiny seedlings from their tray and transplanting them into new pots. Greg could guess that Sherlock was aware of every one of his movements, but the man ignored him.</p><p>“I’ll be back, Molly,” Greg said, and he thanked himself for his self control - at the moment he wanted to throw Sherlock through one of the glass panels.</p><p>He left the greenhouse, and was left with the tight, impotent feeling of not even being able to slam the door - Molly’d kill him.</p><p>
  <em> Jesus fucking Christ. How could you let him get to you like that? </em>
</p><p>In the past, years ago, he would never let someone get away with talking to him like that. Now? Now, he didn’t know what to think. What to do. Wondering if he started shouting, he might not stop. If he started throwing punches, he might throw a few too many.</p><p>
  <em> It’s just a fling anyway. Why’d you let him get to you like this? </em>
</p><p>He realized he didn’t even know where Mycroft was staying.</p><p>
  <em> Be a grown up, Greg, and get over it. </em>
</p><p>Greg stared out to the trees. The white blooms of the black cherry trees were just starting to fade. Soon enough, the birds would be going crazy over the drupes of black fruit when it ripened, and at about that time - the end of summer - Mycroft would return to England.</p><p>Nature was cyclical. Mycroft was not. </p><p>Neither, apparently, was his love life.</p><p><em> So, be a grown up and get over it</em>.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The fragrant smell of sun-drenched strawberries hung in the June air. Greg and Peri had decided on strawberry shortcake for dessert for their movie marathon that night. They’d already bought the cakes, and the whipped cream. It was tradition for them - a scary movie marathon in June, and a Christmas movie marathon in July. Accompanied by a delicious dessert and lots of unhealthy snacking. Jo was happy to leave them to it.</p><p>“So, dad, how are things with your not-boyfriend?”</p><p>Greg wished he’d never said anything about Mycroft to Peri. “Well, he’s been pretty busy in the city. We text every couple days.”</p><p>Peri frowned. “Why only every couple days?”</p><p><em> How do you explain to your teenage daughter that it’s a fuck buddy situation? </em>“I don’t think he’s that interested.” </p><p>“In you? Did you try to tell him jokes? Because you’re terrible at jokes.”</p><p>“Ha ha.” He plucked another strawberry from beneath the green plant, his fingers fumbling about the green leaves for more. Peri and he always made it a race to see who could fill their pint first. The sun was hot on their backs, and the only relief was a gentle breeze that lifted now and then. The heat filled the air with the odor of warmed strawberries. “Sometimes things just don’t work out for us the way we want them to.”</p><p>Peri paused in her picking. He glanced at her half-filled basket and smirked. “I’m winning.”</p><p>“Mom says you’re an idiot when it comes to dating and I should never take your advice.” </p><p>“Hey! I’ve dated. I’ve learned things that I can pass on.”</p><p>“Yeah, like what not to do,” she grinned at him.</p><p><em> Cheek. </em> That was one word he’d learned from watching some British comedies. “Oh, yeah, like your mom’s dated real winners over the years.”</p><p>“Hey, she’s getting married and Marcus is awesome.”</p><p>Greg’s stomach dropped. He ducked his head and lifted some plant leaves in a fresh search for hidden berries. “Yeah.” He forced his voice to sound cheerful. “There is that. Guess she’s got me there.”</p><p>Peri laughed and popped a strawberry into her mouth.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They did text every couple of days. Once about a cowbird bird sighting and another for a recommendation on the best takeout (he called it “takeaway”) in the area. It tempted Greg to ask where his AirBnB was, but he refrained. </p><p>It was friendly, without being intimate, suggestive, or even flirtatious. </p><p>Greg would take it. Meanwhile, he downloaded Grindr and Tinder. </p><p>Just to peruse. Just to check out who was out there. He hadn’t made a profile, yet, but he would when his time with Mycroft neared an end. If he busied himself with dating other people, then he didn’t need to wallow in any lasting regrets at Mycroft’s leaving.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. An Uphill Climb</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>It turns out biodiversity is key to a healthy landscape. It’s a living system, much like a community of people - might be a little ragged around the edges, but like the food web, a lot of connections makes for a vibrant neighborhood.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was the staff’s Solstice BBQ to kick off summer. The odor of woodsmoke hung in the air beside an anticipatory sense of revelry. Greg added bottles of wine to the already snack-cluttered picnic table. Henric set stumps around the campfire for seating. The flames leapt across the kindling, slowly catching on the logs. Greg helped him roll the last stumps into place and set them upright.</p><p>“Okay, great.” Henric clapped his hands together. “I’m going to help Lisa get the last of the beer from the car. We brought a cooler.”</p><p>Greg sat on one of the stumps to take a moment to gaze at the fire, get lost in the beauty of the place - a grove of white pines towering around the campsite. The call of the pileated woodpecker in the distance. The setting sun.</p><p>Sammy appeared in front of him, his arm around his boyfriend Andy. Andy, who was still married to a woman and had kids. </p><p>“Hey Greg!” Sammy wore ripped jeans and a tee with some band graphic on it. For work he wore polos and khakis, but outside hours came with gauges in his ears and black eyeliner. “You remember Andy?”</p><p>Andy nodded to him. “Hello, Greg.” He was a white guy with shaggy brown hair and a goatee. His wedding band was missing from his hand. </p><p>“Yeah, Andy. Hi,” Greg said and held out his hand for a polite shake. </p><p>“Listen, we’re going to celebrate my birthday at Triangles in a few weeks, and I’d love it if you could come,” Sammy said.</p><p>Greg’s hackles raised as his shoulders tensed. “Triangles?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Sammy was all bravado. He wasn’t usually so head-on when addressing Greg. “We were gonna do Partners, but not everyone can drive that far.” He stated it in a sort of breezy way that suggested that ‘everyone’ was actually just Andy, who had a wife and kids. At home.</p><p>Maybe Greg was focusing too seriously on this. <em> It’s his problem; not yours. </em> </p><p>
  <em> You’ve been using it against him for far too long. Grow up and get over it. </em>
</p><p>“Um, well.” <em> Jack. </em> “The last time I went…”</p><p>“They were assholes,” Sammy announced, likely for Andy’s benefit. “But, c’mon. No one talks about it anymore. I rarely see Jack. I think he goes to Partners.” Partners was the gay club in New Haven, about an hour further than Triangles. “It’d be great if you could come.”</p><p>Molly showed up beside them. “Hey, all.”</p><p>“Molly, tell Greg to come with us to Triangles for my birthday.”</p><p>Molly smiled at him. “Yes, Greg. Come with us. It’ll be fun!” </p><p>Greg gave her a look. </p><p>“Seriously.” She thumped his arm. “We’ll be there. Irene’s going. You can just stick with us.”</p><p>Greg wasn’t sure he wanted to be treated like a charity case, either. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.”</p><p>“Great!” Sammy flashed him a grin. His body language was like that of an excited puppy, about ready to squirm right over into a pile on the floor. “And in the meantime, we’ll continue the peer pressure.” Andy laughed and kissed his cheek.</p><p>Greg looked away and stood from his stump. “I’m gonna get a drink.” </p><p>“I’m comin’ with you,” Molly said. “Did you get Strawberry Serenade?” </p><p>“Of course I got Strawberry Serenade.” Greg hurried toward the picnic table. “Irene would have my head, otherwise.” When they reached it, he started picking through the dips and snacks and bottles of wine and beer.</p><p>“Hey, how about pleasing me?”</p><p>“You’re nicer.” </p><p>She punched him in the arm. “How’s that for nice?”</p><p>“Irene would have done worse. Nice is a compliment.”</p><p>Molly sighed as she grabbed a plate. “Not always for women.”</p><p>“Bad date?”</p><p>“No. Just the state of the world.”</p><p>He widened his eyes. “Whoa.”</p><p>“But yeah, bad date, too. How about you?”</p><p>“Haven’t talked to him, or anyone lately.” He took out a church key and started opening the first bottle of Strawberry Serenade. A wine that was a bit too fruity, but honestly, with some ice, it was a refreshing summer drink made from strawberries. “Downloaded a couple apps, but haven’t made a profile.”</p><p>“<em> You </em> downloaded some dating apps?” Molly tilted her head. “What ones?”</p><p>“The usual. Grindr and Tinder.”</p><p>“But you haven’t made a profile yet?”</p><p>“No. Not sure I want to. But,” he said and lifted his shoulders in a show of apathy. “At some point I might get desperate.”</p><p>“Hey. That’s not a nice thing to call people who use apps.” She grabbed a handful of chips and dropped them on her plate. “It’s hard to meet new people when you’ve got a job and adult responsibilities.”</p><p>“I know.” He poured the wine into a ceramic mug and handed it to her. He poured one for himself. “Cheers.” They clinked mugs and took a sip. “Oh, you’re all set for watching the hawks for me when I go up to Cape Cod?”</p><p>“Yeah. Key in the same place?”</p><p>“Yep. Scratch will probably be happy to see someone other than me.”</p><p>“And Mycroft?”</p><p>“I’m not sure they’re that fond of each other,” Greg said, thinking of Mycroft’s bewilderment when he’d nearly tripped over Scratch on the stairs.</p><p>“Hey, don’t forget one for me.” Irene slinked up behind Molly and threw an arm about her shoulders. “I’m going to need it with the grant I wrote this week.”</p><p>“For the building repairs?”</p><p>“It’s just not a sexy topic and people aren’t interested in funding it.” Greg poured a mug for Irene and handed it to her. She took a sip before adding, “But don’t worry. I’ll find us a private donor at the very least.”</p><p>“Wish I had your confidence,” Greg said.</p><p>“Doesn’t everyone.” Irene licked her lips as she peered at them over her mug, her blue eyes bright with suggestion.</p><p>Molly laughed. Then she smirked at Greg. “Greg’s coming to Sammy’s party.”</p><p>Irene lit up with the sort of gleam that seemed predatory. “Oh, splendid!”</p><p>“I said I’d think about it,” Greg insisted.</p><p>Irene huffed with impatience. “Oh, stop it. We’re all friends here, we’re going to celebrate Sammy’s nativity, and we’ll make sure you have an exquisite time. Ignore the haters, Greg.”</p><p>“Oh,” Molly said with a bright note in her voice. “Sherlock’s here.”</p><p>“He did promise to come this time,” Greg said and turned. His jaw nearly hit the floor when he saw who was with him.</p><p>“Oh. Greg. I didn’t know that Sherlock would be dropping off a date for you,” Irene purred.</p><p>“I...didn’t know, either.” Greg smiled in the direction of the brothers. Mycroft saw him and returned his smile. Sherlock ignored him. “He didn’t tell me he was coming.”</p><p>“Oh,” Irene said. “Is that not happening, then?”</p><p>“I have no idea, honestly. I think it’s happening, but I’m not really sure what it is.”</p><p>Irene rolled her eyes. “Then ask him. Why don’t you men actually talk?”</p><p>“Well, that’s a sexist thing to say,” he said.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure I’ve told you the same thing,” Molly said. “Invite him to Sammy’s party!”</p><p>“Still sexist.” Greg set his shoulders and walked over to the brothers. Sherlock had a bored look on his face, but Greg sensed Sherlock was curious enough to observe him and Mycroft in his periphery.</p><p>“Hey,” Greg said.</p><p>“Hello, Greg. I hope it’s alright that I came. Sherlock stated guests of staff are allowed.”</p><p>“Yeah, of course. I think we’re all just surprised that Sherlock invited anyone. We usually have to bully him just to get him to come.”</p><p>Mycroft turned those sharp hawk-eyes to Sherlock. “Is that so? Hm. Seems he has an ulterior motive, then.” </p><p>“Please don’t involve me in this conversation,” Sherlock said, and headed for the picnic table.</p><p>Greg tilted his head and smiled. “You think he cares?”</p><p>“He’s observing us.” Mycroft leaned his head close to Greg, and here among the pines and the campfire smoke, Greg could just get a whiff of his cologne. It shot straight to his groin and caught the interest of his cock in a Pavlovian response. “Perhaps,” Mycroft murmured, “We should repay his thoughtfulness with a show of our own.”</p><p>“Revenge? Seems petty. I’m game.”</p><p>Mycroft leaned in closer and kissed him on the lips.</p><p>When Greg opened his eyes, he noticed Sherlock was looking away from them. He slid an arm around Mycroft and nuzzled the side of his face. “I missed you.” <em> Oops, wasn’t supposed to say that. </em></p><p>In fact, Mycroft seemed surprised. “And I, you. Work was unbelievably busy.”</p><p>“This is how you take a sabbatical?”</p><p>Mycroft smirked. “Yes, this is how <em> I </em> take a sabbatical. It probably differs for other people.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m starting to think you don’t know how to take an actual sabbatical.”</p><p>“Hmph.” Mycroft pressed his fingers to Greg’s arm and peered with interest at the refreshments table. “Likely why I’ve never held a relationship. Is there wine? What is that fragrance on your breath?”</p><p>Greg’s heart stuttered, but he gathered himself quickly. “Strawberry Serenade. It’s a local wine made with the same farm’s strawberries.”</p><p>“Interesting. I’m not one for fruit wines.”</p><p>“Usually, I’m not either, but this one is tradition.”</p><p>“Ah. Then who am I to speak against tradition?”</p><p>“I’ll be happy to pour you a mug.”</p><p>Mycroft looked aghast at this.</p><p>Greg chuckled. “I promise you, it tastes just fine coming from a mug. It’s fruit wine, after all.”</p><p>Mycroft seemed dubious, but he followed Greg to the refreshments table. “So, this little gathering is a tradition among the staff, I take it?”</p><p>“The summer kick off. We just like to hang out around the campfire, eat lots of food, drink, talk shit, sing some songs.”</p><p>“There will be singing?”</p><p>“Yeah. A couple of us play instruments, and we take requests, and get the whole crew going.” Greg watched Mycroft’s face flicker with bits of surprise and mild horror. “Sherlock didn’t tell you?”</p><p>“I’m surprised Sherlock even invited me. I see now that he did it as a form of torture.”</p><p>“Hey, hey now, don’t be like that. Loosen up. You might enjoy yourself.” He handed Mycroft his mug of Strawberry Serenade. “Cheers.”</p><p>Mycroft gave him a dubious look, but he clinked his mug to Greg’s, and sipped. He held the liquid in his mouth before he swallowed. “This isn’t terrible. But I’m not sure I’d call it wine.”</p><p>Greg laughed. “Good enough.”</p><p>“Ah, Mycroft! Good of you to join us!” Henric came up with a cooler in his arms which he plopped beside the table. </p><p>“Henric, thank you for allowing me to attend.” Mycroft smiled. “I’m surprised you’re able to get Sherlock out to these gatherings.”</p><p>Henric glanced at the man standing on the other side of the campfire. Molly and Irene stood next to him, all speaking in low tones. “Uh oh, they look like they’re plotting. I never trust those three.”</p><p>Mycroft looked at Henric with surprise. “Those three?”</p><p>“They’re the three smartest people on the staff - no offense Greg - and the last time I saw them looking like that, I ended up leading a new board member on a tour into a room of animal carcasses. Molly lendt her corpses for taxidermy to Sherlock for some sort of experiment on tissue decay. The worst surprise of my life. And Irene set it up! Turned out that the board member, before she became some big time philanthropist, was a molecular scientist in a spider lab that tested spiders and other animals on circadian biology. She was supremely interested in Sherlock’s research, while I had to leave the room to save myself from the embarrassment of upchucking all over the woman’s shoes.”</p><p>Mycroft’s smile suggested that this was precisely what he expected from his younger brother. “I suppose it worked out for you, that the board member happened to stumble upon the experiment that the three of them set up.”</p><p>“It did, and I’m very grateful, but I was also horrified, and would prefer to not to be surprised like that in the future.” Henric grabbed a beer from the cooler. “Excuse me, I need to head off whatever frightening disaster they’re planning.”</p><p>Mycroft was still smiling. </p><p>“So, how was your week?” Greg hoped it came off as casual, that the awkwardness he heard in his own voice wasn’t so apparent to Mycroft. But, more than likely, Mycroft could tell, because the bastard could be damn perceptive when he wanted to be.</p><p>“Rather dull. I’ve completed my business with the U.N., however.”</p><p>“What does a British civil servant do at the U.N., anyhow?” Greg’d been looking up the Civil Service online. It seemed unusual that he would be in the U.S., attending to matters at the U.N. building in NY. </p><p>“Assisting the British Ambassadors, of course.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>“I’m sure your week was much more exciting. Tell me about it.” He turned the full power of his intense gaze on Greg. </p><p>“Well, we had a lot of school programs. We did pond studies, soil science, and some talks on the behavioral and physical adaptations of plants and animals.”</p><p>“Fascinating. Grade levels?”</p><p>“Kindergarten through eighth grade.” Enervated, Greg smiled and couldn’t help himself. “We do a lot of inquiry-based lesson plans with the kids, so it’s all very hands-on and they have to use their brains. It’s awesome to watch them figure things out.”</p><p>“It sounds very rewarding. I must admit I’ve never spent much time in the company of young people.”</p><p>“It is rewarding. I’ve always loved working with kids.”</p><p>“And you just had a weekend with your own daughter?”</p><p>“Yeah. We went strawberry picking. That’s where I picked up all this wine.”</p><p>“An idyllic activity.”</p><p>“Another tradition.”</p><p>“I didn’t realize you were one so taken with forming traditions.”</p><p>Greg shrugged. “Gives me something to look forward to.” He wanted to put his hand in Mycroft’s, or slide an arm around his waist and stand close, pressed up against the man. But he couldn’t be sure it would be welcome after their initial reunion. He didn't know exactly where they stood, what liberties he could take.</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“Hey!” Henric shouted as his wife Lisa came up to stand beside him. “Food’s here! Let’s eat!”</p><p>Lisa had brought a few aluminum trays of prepared food - BBQ spare ribs, cow burgers and veggie burgers, toppings, corn on the cob, macaroni salad, cornbread, quinoa salad, and brownies. The s’mores makings followed. </p><p>Eventually, everyone situated themselves around the fire. Molly and Irene pulled over a picnic bench so they could huddle together. The air had turned a bit cool, though Greg found it refreshing. He couldn’t quite imagine Mycroft in his bespoke trousers sitting on a tree stump, but the man did it. </p><p>Greg retrieved his guitar case from beneath the picnic table. He brought it with him over to his own stump, and was pleased to see Mycroft’s eyes on him.</p><p>“Any requests?” Greg hefted the guitar in his lap. </p><p>“Oh, oh, do the Grace Petrie one! You know!” Irene called out. Molly clapped her hands and loudly agreed.</p><p>Greg looked at Sherlock. “You in?” </p><p>He caught Mycroft’s eyes widening as Sherlock brought out his violin case from beneath the table.</p><p>Greg plucked at a few strings, tightening here and there. Sammy and Andy were settled. Henric added another log to the fire, and Lisa handed him a beer as they both sat on their stumps.</p><p>“Come on, hurry, Sherlock,” Irene said.</p><p>Sherlock rolled his eyes as he placed the violin at his neck and lifted the bow. He looked at Greg and nodded.</p><p>Greg began the first few notes of the song. He didn’t miss the squirm of Irene and Molly as they grabbed each other's hands. It started out somewhat playful, but quickly sobered as Greg began the lyrics in his rough, throaty singing voice:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Well we're a long way from the Stonewall Inn </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I'm standing on this platform, no one's stopping me to sing” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He felt pleased when he saw Mycroft’s encouraging smile. His voice wasn’t half bad, he knew.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em> “But there's a multitude of sins that can hide behind your hashtag  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tell me again how love wins </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Well there’s nothing new about this rage </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It's a war that's always waged  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Like how no one bats an eye that when fifty of us die  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And it doesn't even make the Daily Mail front page” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The chorus started, and Sherlock joined in with his violin. Mycroft watched his brother, smiling.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Well sometimes, it's like an uphill climb  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Yeah sometimes, it's like an uphill climb”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock paused on the violin as Greg finished the chorus.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But I'm right by your side  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And that's what we call pride” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Greg couldn’t help but meet Mycroft’s eyes. The man was beaming. Greg could feel a flush creeping across his own face as he strummed his guitar. Sherlock joined again, gently played along, growing quieter as another verse approached. By this time, Irene and Molly’s eyes were glimmering with tears. Lisa and Henric took each other’s hands and looked at each other over their beers, aglow from the fire.</p><p>Eventually Irene, Molly and even Sammy sang along with the rest of the verses. Henric and Lisa watched, still holding hands. The sound of Sherlock’s violin slipped slowly in and away as Greg continued on the guitar, nearing the end.</p><p>Molly laid her head on Irene’s shoulder. Sammy and Andy put their arms around each other as they moved their stumps closer. It was almost silent but for the soft crackle of the fire as Greg paused before the final chorus.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “But sometimes, it's like an uphill climb”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Guitar and violin came back, serenading and twisting together. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Yeah sometimes, it's like an uphill climb  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But I'm right by your side  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And that's what we call pride </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And that’s why we need...Pride.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Irene wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, and Molly grabbed her arm and wiped her eyes using the same sleeve Irene did.</p><p>“I can’t believe you just did that!” Irene squealed.</p><p>Mycroft approached Greg and asked in a low tone, “May I kiss you?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Greg grinned at him. To the left of them, Sherlock made a gross noise.</p><p>The kiss was warm and chaste. Mycroft didn't step back, and Greg could tell he was smiling.</p><p>“Okay, okay, lovebirds, can we get another request?” Irene called out.</p><p>“I love it when Greg plays ‘Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes!’” Lisa said.</p><p>“Your audience awaits.” Mycroft stepped back and sat at the picnic table, moving his legs with a dancer’s grace. </p><p>Sherlock started to place his violin in its case. </p><p>“Wait, wait, we can do some others, Sherlock.” Greg hit the strings of his guitar. “We could do ‘Rolling in the Deep’ or ‘Tonight, Tonight.’”</p><p>“Oh! Oh! 'Rolling in the Deep!'” Molly said.</p><p>“No, do Smashing Pumpkins!” Irene gave Molly a push.</p><p>“Okay, okay, we can do all that, and Paul Simon,” he flashed a smile at Lisa, who toasted him with her beer in the air.</p><p>Greg pulled the campfire air into his lungs, his level of happiness ratcheting up by miles into the night sky.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Grooves and Glaciers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Some boulders exhibit long, parallel grooves like giant scratches left behind from some prehistoric creature. Many of these marks were left behind by glaciers, shaping valleys and hills the world over. As the glacier carried till and rock with it, boulders would end up scraping against each other. In Connecticut, the last glacial sheet melted about 25,000 years ago. The marks have only weathered over time. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It's a little like the people we meet in our lives: some pass by barely touching, some might leave a scratch, and others etch deep, indelible marks that remain for the rest of our lives.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come home with me,” he’d said to Mycroft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s how they ended up at his house, Scratch casting him an accusing glare as the two of them stumbled through the door, wine-buzzed and limber from endorphins. Their mouths were on each other right away, lipping and nipping, Greg brushing his stubble along Mycroft’s jawline as he followed the trail of scent down his neck. He pulled down his collar to lick along his collarbones. Mycroft’s fingers tunneled into his hair, and Mycroft’s mouth found his ear, sucking on the high arch. He popped open the buttons on the top of Mycroft's shirt as he followed the trail of cologne, his cock stiffening and straining against the zip of his pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, take me to bed,” Mycroft gasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get up those stairs,” Greg growled, and released him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg was almost surprised at the fluid quickness of the man. It sent the low fire in his belly into leaping flames of lust. He stalked his quarry up the stairs. Mycroft stood at the foot of his bed, a challenge in his glittering eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck me up, Mycroft,” Greg said as his eyes followed the lines of the man's body. “You get me going every time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is nearly unbelievable to me,” Mycroft breathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? That you’re so fucking sexy that I feel the need to jump you whenever I can?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s eyes widened, and Greg swore he saw the bulge of the man’s pants twitch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get on that bed,” Greg said. “And take your clothes off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft crooked a smile at him. “Make me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pounced. He slammed Mycroft onto the bed and covered him with his body, grinding his cock against Mycroft’s groin. He bit into Mycroft’s shoulder, pinned his wrists down, and growled. Mycroft groaned and shoved his hips upward, encouraging Greg’s undulations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg released him from his mouth. “Are you going to take your clothes off, or do I have to do it for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft met his gaze with a mocking glare. In his incredibly proper British accent, he said, “As if I’d deign to remove my clothes for a bit of rough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg slammed his wrists against the mattress again. “Is that so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled. It was evil, playful, and Greg loved him for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg loved him for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Goddamn</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t lose the thread of their scene now. He leaned down next to Mycroft’s ear. “Use red or yellow if you need me to stop or to slow down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s smile faded, but he nodded, holding Greg’s gaze with intense eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whaleskin grey</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Greg thought again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to make you regret those words,” he said in a louder voice, and straddled Mycroft’s hips. He released Mycroft’s wrists and slid his hands to the front of Mycroft’s shirt. He yanked it open, buttons shooting in different directions and rattling against the objects they hit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft gasped and arched his back. He wore a white vest, and Gred rucked that up and lowered himself to trail his tongue along the man’s belly and ribs. He pushed it up to Mycroft’s collarbones, and tortured his pink nipples with his tongue and his teeth. Mycroft whined and arched and shivered beneath him. Greg felt like he was on fire, his blood moving through his body like lava down a mountainside. His cock was rock hard and ready to hammer away, to fuck something into submission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft made small noises in his throat as his body twitched, and he tried to grab Greg’s forearms. Greg moved faster and snatched Mycroft’s wrists. He put them over Mycroft’s head and smacked their lips together, teeth clacking, but he bit Mycroft’s lower lip and transferred the man’s wrists to one hand. Holding Mycroft’s wrists in place, he slid his hand down to Mycroft’s pants and undid his buckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft writhed as Greg pushed his zipper down and slid his hand inside, grabbing the hot shaft of Mycroft’s dick. Mycroft’s whimpers excited him, and he rubbed, his hand encircling Mycroft’s impressive girth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let go of the cock just long enough to begin shoving down Mycroft’s pants. He gripped his wrists together tightly - it was probably hurting Mycroft but he didn’t complain. His body was still undulating, strangled cries of pleasure erupting from his throat. Greg took that as his signal to keep going. Mycroft looked wrecked. His hair was a mess, a curl lying forward on his forehead, other waves of hair sticking out. His face was flushed and a she</span>
  <span>en of perspiration covered his collarbones and his forehead. Greg dashed forward to lick at the saltiness, as he reached down to undo his own pants. He pulled out his cock and rubbed it next to Mycroft’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, oh!” Mycroft startled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking sexy,” Greg mumbled. “I’m gonna fuck you into this mattress and then I’m going to make you spray come everywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>bugger</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Mycroft groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like that, don’t you?” Greg thrust against him, the soft skin of their dicks sliding together, a tantalizing sensation of friction spooling with sweet tension between his hips. “You like the thought of me fucking you, filling you up, </span>
  <em>
    <span>buggering</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Mycroft whined. “Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m gonna do it, don’t you worry. You’re here for me to fuck tonight, didn’t you know? Good boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Greg felt a new wave of liquid precome trickle from the head of Mycroft’s cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like that, huh?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Praise</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “You are so good for me. You were being naughty earlier this week. Did you want to be punished? Did you want me to hold you down and rip your clothes from you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, yes,” Mycroft babbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’ll be good for me, now, won’t you? Because you want to get fucked, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Mycroft jerked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold still for me,” Greg growled. “Good boys hold still when they want to get fucked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft held still even though his body thrummed with barely concealed ardor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg moved to his knees, his heavy cock hanging from his pants, and pulled off all of their clothes. “I can’t believe you’re wearing so many layers in June.” Mycroft opened his eyes and Greg preened under his appreciative gaze. “Like what you see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft swallowed and nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, me too,” Greg said, predatory and slinking closer. He leaned down and bit one of Mycroft’s nipples. Mycroft gasped and arched his back again. Greg cupped his cheek and leaned forward to lay an affectionate kiss on his nose. “You okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never better,” Mycroft said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg sucked at his collarbones, and moved his hand down to between Mycroft’s thighs. Mycroft’s legs parted. He cradled Mycroft’s balls and listened as Mycroft’s breath hitched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gorgeous,” Greg said as he pushed himself up and reached for the drawer for the lube.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft didn’t say anything. He watched Greg with what seemed like anticipation. Greg stroked his thigh with one hand as he got out the lube with the other and placed it on the surface of the nightstand. It was the pump kind - easy access. He pulled out a condom and put that on the blanket next to him. He pumped some into his hand, keeping it in a pool in his palm as he situated himself between Mycroft’s legs. “I’m gonna fuck you real good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft inhaled and spread his legs further, planting his feet on the mattress and lifting his hips slightly. “Do it. Fuck me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s cock leaped. “God, what you do to me when you swear.” </span>
  <span>He pushed two fingers into Mycroft. Mycroft gasped, his body jerked, and Greg could feel him bearing down, pushing him out almost but then sucking him in. “God, Mycroft, you’re so tight, so hot inside. I won’t last long. But I’ll make sure you feel it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, do it. I need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I got what you need.” Greg jerked on his own cock as he fucked Mycroft with two fingers. He opened the condom with his teeth - </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad idea, he remembered his sex ed teacher saying</span>
  </em>
  <span> - and he managed to get it out of the package and rolled down his cock the right way all with one hand. He reached over for more lube, and covered his cock with it. “You need a good dicking right now, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Mycroft’s cock released more glistening fluid, a long strand from the tip of his cock to his stomach, pooling there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s it.” He slicked his cock with more lube as he added more to Mycroft before lining himself up. “Hold yourself open for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft reached down, his movements slow. He slid his hands beneath his bottom, his fingers just reaching his crack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Show me,” Greg said as he pumped his cock, the lube squelching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft pulled open his cheeks, and Greg could see the dark pink entrance, shiny with lube. “I’m gonna fuck you, and when I’m done, you’ll be gaping open. Would you like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ,” Mycroft said and slammed his head against the pillow. His cock stood straight up at attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg began the slow descent of his cock inside Mycroft’s hole. He held himself over Mycroft with one arm as he entered. Mycroft made a small noise and then a sharp intake of breath. “I’ll go easy. I’ll go slow. Tell me when you’re ready.” He could feel the tight ring of muscle around the head of his cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yesss, go. Slow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg notched himself forward a bit, feeling Mycroft’s muscles relax around him, followed by the satisfying pop as his cock slid past the tight ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Mycroft gasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Go slow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I will. Tell me when you’re ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now. Go now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg moved forward in small increments. He could feel Mycroft’s walls relaxing and bearing down, almost pushing him out and then inviting him into that tight warmth. Mycroft’s erection softened, but Greg pumped some lube into Mycroft’s hand. “Jerk yourself off for me. I want to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft enclosed his hand about his cock, and began sliding over it, the foreskin moving over the head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, I love that you’re uncut. It’s so sexy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft moaned, and Greg’s dick pushed in a little further. He was about halfway in, now. “Good boy, taking me in like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s mouth opened, his pants becoming irregular and his fist flying over his cock. “Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, I’m going to fuck you for being so good for me.” His cock slid in almost all the way. He waited as Mycroft adjusted. “Tell me when to fuck you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment passed, his cock in the tight grip of Mycroft’s ass, his arms trembling with the strain of holding himself over the man, his eyes glued down on Mycroft’s long, slender hand wrapped around his own dick. It was heaven. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, I never want this to stop.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move,” Mycroft said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pushed in more, and then pulled out, slow and gentle. He rocked in and out, gaining momentum as Mycroft’s brow creased and his head moved side to side on the pillow. “Yeah, baby, you’re taking me so well. You feel so good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Greg</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, I want to hear him call my name like that every night for the rest of my life.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Oh fuck, Mycroft, I’m gonna fuck you so well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They rocked together, faster and faster. Sweat poured off of Greg, Mycroft’s thighs around his hips. Everything was hot and tight and felt unbelievably exquisite. The sweet tension that gathered in his groin began thrummed with resonance, like water passing over the rocks in the river, a babbling brook of pleasure ribboning its way through the cradle of Greg’s hips as he pistoned in and out of his lover.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck, oh fuck, talk to me,” he moaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, oh, Greg.” Mycroft’s cheeks were crimson. “You fill me up so well. Your cock is perfect, it fits me perfectly, God, I love how you bugger my arse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg drove into him, snapping his hips in fast, hard thrusts as his orgasm threatened to overtake the banks. “I’m gonna come in you. I’m gonna fill you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, fuck me, Greg, fill me up with your come,” Mycroft said in gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, here it is!” His pleasure tightened, squeezed, and burst in undulating waves as the brook of orgasm splashed over. His cock stiffened and pulsed as it filled the condom - and he shouted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t go, not yet,” Mycroft said as he grabbed Greg’s wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I got you,” Greg panted, his throat rasping and tremors passing through his arms and thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft fucked the circle of his own hand while Greg’s cock softened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg lowered his head by Mycroft’s ear. “Good boy, such a good boy, come for me, come all over yourself, get yourself all dirty for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fff-” Mycroft couldn’t finish his word as his body went rigid, and his cock spurted all over his hand and his stomach. He gasped, “Bloody hell.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg lowered his head to Mycroft’s heaving chest. “Yeah. My sentiments exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft puffed with laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg grabbed the base of the condom and slowly pulled out. He tied it off and dropped it into the wastebasket by the bed. He flopped down next to Mycroft. “Oh my god.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shan’t be able to move for some time, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. Better than.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg smiled into the pillow. “Good. Stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay the night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought he could hear a smile in Mycroft’s voice as he answered, “Very well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg rolled over and kissed the man’s shoulder. “Let me get something to clean us up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuffled down the steps to the bathroom, pinged with just a bit of guilt as Scratch stared at him at the bottom of the stairs. “Sorry, old man,” he said as he opened the linen closet and took out a towel, wetting one corner with warm water at the sink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back upstairs, Mycroft lay sprawled, one hand on his chest as if to feel his own heart beat. Greg gently lay the towel across the man’s belly, wiping away the traces of sweat and semen. He wiped his own cock and dropped the towel on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stretched himself out next to Mycroft. It was too hot to pull on any covers, so he settled with just barely touching his arm to Mycroft’s. “Do you mind cuddling?” His voice sounded loud in the quiet of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I suppose I don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s not exactly enthusiastic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have to.” Though Greg could admit to himself that he was a bit put out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Relax. This is part of taking it easy, not taking it too seriously. It’s okay.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m...I’m not opposed to cuddling, Greg. It’s only something I have little opportunity to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” He rolled over and pressed his face to Mycroft’s shoulder. Mycroft seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then he lifted his arm and invited Greg to move closer. Greg snuggled into his side and laid his cheek on Mycroft’s pec.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft closed his arm around him, and began tracing his fingernails over Greg’s arm, up and down, in soothing strokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What we just did? That was hot,” Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft snorted. After a moment, he said, “You make me feel...so desired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg smiled. “Well, you’re pretty damn attractive, so it’s not too hard.” He licked his lips. “Must have left some broken hearts in England.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmph.” Mycroft continued his stroking. “If that is some thinly veiled attempt to find out more about my sexual history, you will find yourself with little to discover.” He paused in his strokes. “There is no one to miss me in England.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In England. You do a lot of traveling, Mister.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stop thinking like that.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Are you feeling alright? I mean, I wasn’t too rough, was I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were perfect,” Mycroft said. “I have no doubt I shan’t forget it tomorrow, but...in a way, it’s perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg cuddled up to him even closer. “I won’t ever forget it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft stilled.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. My stupid mouth.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it was hot.” He bit his lip and then pulled away from Mycroft. He plumped up a pillow and lay his head on it. “I’m exhausted. Long week and all.” The buzz of the alcohol and the fun evening was wearing off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Mycroft’s movements were slow, but he nestled further onto his own pillow. Greg pulled up the bedsheet and covered the both of them. Mycroft lay on his side to face Greg. Greg didn’t move from his back, but he smiled at Mycroft. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Should I ask? I mean, if this is on, what harm is there in it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Sammy’s birthday is coming up and he’s invited a bunch of us out to celebrate. Want to come with?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft gave him a dubious stare. “Sammy seems...like a nice, young man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg guffawed. “Okay, grandpa, he’s like, late twenties. Not exactly a kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft snickered. “I’m only curious as to what a birthday party might look like for him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be at a club. Mostly, I want to sit at the bar and drink and avoid other people. Would you like to do that with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that might be delightful.” He didn’t seem convinced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m not even sure I want to go.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just don’t ask me why.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“When is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Second week in July. Friday night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m feeling carefree. I’ll say yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg snorted. “Okay. It’s a date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it is.” Mycroft smiled at him, his face half-hidden by the curve of pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight,” Mycroft returned in a quiet voice with soft eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg looked up at the ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a long time before he fell sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. I Don't Need to Be Adam</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Sycamores, be they American or otherwise, have evolved to possess a unique trait: photosynthesizing in bark as well as in leaves. When looking upon the tree, the trunk is a lovely mottled mix of grey, green, and a very light creamy tan. Those green parts are doing the same job the leaves do: harnessing the sun's power, and transforming it into sugars. While no one is entirely sure why the tree evolved this way, one hypothesis is that it is a response to a persistent fungus known as</em> Sycamore anthracnose.<em> This fungus kills leaves and young buds, which can decimate the tree's photosynthesis factory. But if the tree can get its sunlight another way, it has a chance to try again the next year. </em></p><p>
  <em>Another wonderful example of adaptation in nature. If one thing doesn't work, try another. It didn't work for the tree overnight - it took years of evolution. But we still have sycamores today despite a relentless pursuer.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Greg cracked an egg into a small glass bowl. He stood at the counter in his terrycloth bathrobe and he had no doubt his hair stuck up in every direction, but he couldn’t care too much. Mycroft was in his shower, and he was putting together spinach-feta omelettes and toast with strawberry preserves. </p><p>
  <em> I’m going to invite him to Cape Cod. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So soon? I did just invite him out on a date that’s not even going to happen for a few weeks. A trip for two friends with bennies might be a little...much.  </em>
</p><p>Scratch watched him from the windowsill. The morning was bright and clear, and a soft breeze swept the house now and again. Birds chirped outside - he could hear clearly the calls of robins, carolina wrens, and tiny, wide-throated warblers.</p><p>
  <em> I think he’d enjoy bird watching there. Especially up at the Point when the tide recedes. </em>
</p><p>Mycroft entered the kitchen, hands in his pockets. His eyes traveled over Greg’s figure, and when they reached his face, Greg winked at him. The answering smile made his heart sing. He turned to the stovetop to watch the butter melt in the pan. “I’m making omelettes.”</p><p>“That sounds delightful.” Some amusement lingered in his tone. Greg turned to look at him. Mycroft’s lips seemed to battle against a smile. </p><p>“You didn’t shave. It looks good on you.”</p><p>“You think so?” That bemused smile flickering on his face.</p><p>“Yeah. I bet you look just as handsome without a beard as you do with one.”</p><p>“I’ll consider it,” Mycroft said, and his eyes twinkled. It gave Greg the feeling that Mycroft was enjoying a joke at his expense. </p><p>“What’s that look for?” Greg asked as he tilted his head.</p><p>“Greg...I assume you weren’t expecting company...nor were you expecting that company to have the use of your shower.”</p><p>A wild search of his brain flailed for a few seconds - and then it hit him. His face burst into a hot flush of embarrassment. “Oh - my god.”</p><p>Mycroft sputtered with laughter. “I must admit, I am intrigued in regards to your...shower activities.”</p><p>The mounted fleshlight. He hadn’t taken it down. Why the fuck hadn’t he taken it down? Oh god, it wasn't a Peri weekend and he wasn't expecting to see Mycroft and...</p><p>“Wow, I’m...well. Yeah. It’s, uh…” In a fit of sudden laughter, he placed the bowl of whisked eggs on the counter as he held himself up, his whole body shaking. Mycroft crossed the kitchen to slide his arms around Greg’s waist and nuzzle the side of his neck. He could feel the warm breath of chuckles against his skin and the scrape of stubble. “I would love to see you use it, sometime.”</p><p>Greg groaned. “Jesus Christ, Mycroft, you’re not going to get any breakfast if you don’t stop saying things like that.” </p><p>They’d already had a frotting romp in the blankets upon their waking. The towel on the floor became handy in the cleanup again. </p><p>“Oh, if only.” Mycroft released him. “Have you any coffee?”</p><p>“In the carafe there. Mugs on the left.”</p><p>“Thank you.” </p><p>Greg decided he could get used to seeing Mycroft getting himself coffee in his kitchen.</p><p>
  <em> But don’t do that. </em>
</p><p>He raked his throat and poured the egg mixture into the pan. He added just a tiny dollop of creme fraiche. </p><p>“Creme fraiche?” Mycroft asked.</p><p>“Just gives it a bit more fluffiness, and a little added flavor. Subtle, but it really makes a difference in mouthfeel.”</p><p>“Mm. Calorie-dense, too.”</p><p>Greg watched the eggs cook in the pan as he considered his next sentence. “You know, you’re an awfully slender guy to be worried about calories all the time.”</p><p>“Concerning myself with calories is exactly what allows me to maintain a slender figure.” Mycroft’s answer was short and clipped and he said ‘slender’ as if the word were dirty.</p><p>Or untrue.</p><p>Greg tested the edges of the omelette with the spatula. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you look great. And I’ll help you work off the calories.” He snuck a look at Mycroft, who stood at the end of the counter, coffee mug in hand, eyes on Greg.</p><p>Mycroft’s smile was tight, but his shoulders relaxed and he took a sip from his mug.</p><p>“You could skip the toast, but the strawberry preserves are made by none other than my little Peregrine, and they are scrumptious.” Peregrine had given him the jar when she’d come for the after-school program that week.</p><p>Mycroft sighed. “You are as dangerous for my waistline as you are for my equilibrium.” Then he looked at Greg with a true smile on his face. “I find it hard to care.”</p><p>Greg grinned. “Good. Enjoy life with me, Mycroft. It can be pretty sweet, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Well, if you speak of strawberry preserves…”</p><p>“Made with honey. Low in sugar. Sherlock’s honey, in fact.” Greg flipped the omelette in the pan.</p><p>“Mm. Does Peregrine get along well with my brother?”</p><p>“Well enough. Peregrine’s pretty smart. Sherlock especially appreciates smart kids, I’ve seen, though he’s just as good with the kids who might not have book or math smarts.” He heard Sherlock’s voice then, his words floating like poison between his ears: <em> Tell me, Greg, in between your time in the sheets, does he ask questions about me and my time here? </em></p><p>“Anyway,” Greg said as he placed the omelette on a plate and handed it to Mycroft. “Enough about him. Got any plans today?”</p><p>“No.” Mycroft accepted the plate. </p><p>“Well, I still need to feed Artemis, and since it’s so lovely out, I’m going to fly her for a bit. Interested in watching?”</p><p>Mycroft smiled at him like Greg had given him a gift. “Without a doubt.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Artemis, sharp-eyed and vigilant, watched Mycroft enter the mews. Once she determined he was of little consequence, she pointed her stares to the cup attached to Greg’s belt.</p><p>“Yes, my darling, it’s feed and fly time.” He placed his gloved hand in front of Artemis. “Step up.”</p><p>She placed one yellow talon onto his glove, followed by the second and shifted her weight as she settled, all sharp angles and sleek danger. He snapped the leash to her leather jesses. </p><p>“Remarkable,” Mycroft said. “While falconry is a long-held tradition in England, I have never stood quite so close.”</p><p>Greg bent his head to Atemis, who touched his face with her black beak. He prickled with pride as Artemis eyed Mycroft again. Mycroft’s face contained a gentle smile and a shine to his eyes as he watched the bird. They left the mews and headed up the path from his house that bent gently around a meadow. </p><p>He needed his full attention on Artemis, but he couldn’t help but let his thoughts circle in worry about how Mycroft would take his invitation. A full weekend away?</p><p>
  <em> Would he take it the wrong way? </em>
</p><p>Plus, he hadn’t really checked with Damien. </p><p>“Do you like living out here, with no neighbors but for the coyotes and birds?”</p><p>“Love it.” Greg undid Artemis’ leash. He clicked his tongue and raised his arm as she spread her wings and took off, a rush of air hitting his face as she did. He watched her climb into the sky before he answered. “Growing up where I did, I spent a lot of time in the woods.”</p><p>“You mentioned.” Mycroft’s arms were clasped behind his back as he tilted his chin to the sky. </p><p>“Out here, I feel connected. I feel small, but also like I’m part of something very important. I watch the changes in plant life and the migrations of animals throughout the year, and there’s something...profound about  it.”</p><p>“Not a city person, then?”</p><p>“Hm. I suppose that’s a wilderness of another kind.” Artemis swooped, her tail flashing rust-red in the sunshine, her body a brown silhouette against curly, cumulus clouds. “I’d likely stake out a peregrine falcon nest or something in order to feel connected. Visit the Botanical Gardens. Look for barred owls in Central Park. But, I’ve enjoyed myself in cities. In my youth, I would go into the city for clubbing and the Pride Parade. Now, I do Pride about every other year. I’ve gotten used to this.” He gestured to the field around them, a palette of greens and golds and shadowy blues and rich browns. “No one really thinks about it, but the only life here isn’t just the animals. I once read that when people look out onto a landscape, they don’t really see it as alive. If there’s an animal, they focus on that because it most resembles them, so they think - ah, there, there's some life. But every plant is a living being. I look out on this and I see that I have a ton of neighbors. This neighborhood has its own rhythm. And, I can dig it.”</p><p>Greg stretched his arm out and whistled. Artemis took one last dive and floated down to land on his falconer glove. He rewarded her with a bit of mouse from the cup, and she chirped as she swallowed it. </p><p>Mycroft wasn’t facing them. When he turned to Greg, he said, “I hadn’t considered that. I suppose, when one has an intimate understanding of the local ecology, this quality of...kinship...is enhanced.”</p><p>“Sure, it helps to know what you're looking at. I can tell you some of the names. Molly could tell you more.” Greg gave Artemis another piece of mouse. “But I don’t need to be Adam in the Garden to appreciate Eden.”</p><p>Mycroft’s smile flickered as his brow furrowed. When his smile returned, it was bigger than before. Greg released Artemis into the sky again. </p><p>As Artemis took her flights, the two men were quiet for most of it, each seemingly lost in their thoughts. Just as they finished, a voice rang out. “Yoo-hoo! Good morning, Greg!”</p><p>Candy walked from the path leading into the woods, waving her hand at them, her hair a flag of white in the air behind her. “Did I miss it?”</p><p>“I just finished.” Greg said. “I’ve got to meet Peri and Jo for yoga.”</p><p>Candy’s eyes tracked from Mycroft to Greg to Artemis. “Oh, nuts!” Her cheeks were rosy with exertion as her eyes latched onto Mycroft. “Did you enjoy the show? I’m Candy, by the way.”</p><p>“Mycroft Holmes,” Mycroft said with a bob of his chin </p><p>Candy stood with her fists on her hips. “Well, I do have plenty to do today what with my Caroline coming for a visit.” A wink. “What do you say to us coming by tomorrow? She’s a very single girl right now.” She almost held her straight face but burst out in a cackle. </p><p>Greg couldn’t help his returning snicker. He noticed Mycroft’s smile had disappeared, though, and his eyes were assessing Candy with an interested stare.</p><p>Greg needed to diffuse the situation. “You’re a riot, Candy. Don’t change.” He winked at her and made to go for the mews. “Send Caroline my love, though.”</p><p>Candy chortled and waved her hand at him. “Honestly, why couldn’t I have had a son?” </p><p>“Blame your husband for that one,” Greg grinned.</p><p>“Have a lovely day, Greg. Nice meeting you, Mycroft Holmes.” </p><p>Mycroft said “Likewise,” and when he turned away from her, Candy gave Greg a thumbs-up. Greg tried not to let his emotions spin wildly on his face, so he just waved to her and turned around. </p><p>Inside the mews, he got Artemis onto her perch. Mycroft watched from the doorway. “I don’t wish to delay you in your plans for today, so I shall take my leave.”</p><p>“Well, hey, wait.” He felt a nervous trickle of sweat on the back of his neck. “I have my weekend with Peri next, and the weekend after that is July 4th.”</p><p>“Ah, yes. Your Independence Day.” He said it with a lofty tone and an upward curve twitching at the corners of his lips.</p><p>Greg chuckled and ran his tongue over his teeth, locking eyes with Mycroft as he did it. “Would it be, like, against the rules or something for us to hang out?”</p><p>Mycroft gave a loud sigh. “Last I checked, we’re now allies.”</p><p>“Excellent. I’m going up to the Cape to visit my buddy Damien. I thought you might like to come along.” Greg hurried his words. “The bird life up there is amazing. Just the variety of shorebirds alone is worth the visit.”</p><p>Greg didn’t miss the flash of white in Mycroft’s eyes. </p><p>“Well, I might be able...yes, I can arrange that.” Mycroft turned his attention to the red-tail on her perch. “It would be very educational, I suppose.”</p><p>“Yeah. We’ll stay in Truro. Damien owns some cottages where he lets me stay for free. It’s just outside of P-town, which is like the East Coast Gay Mecca.”</p><p>Mycroft lifted an eyebrow at him. “Pee town?”</p><p>“Provincetown.” Greg led Mycroft out of the mews. “I’ll send you the link for his cottages. I hope you don’t mind if we stay in one together? He rents out the rest to vacationers.” His heartbeat pitter-pattered quickly, but he kept his voice cool and his face pleasant and hoped none of his somewhat desperate hope came through.</p><p>“I think I can manage.”</p><p>“Um, so we can leave early Friday morning. The traffic going in is gonna be hell, but it’s July 4th weekend, so there’s no avoiding it. The other option is Thursday night, but well, I thought you might be busy…”</p><p>“You know, getting there Thursday night might be just the thing. Then we can rise, fresh, on Friday morning and face the day.” Mycroft waves his hand in a sort of breezy way. </p><p>“Okay, that’s great. I’ll let Damien know.” <em>And tell him that I’ve invited someone up.</em> <em>And let Molly know we’ll be gone Friday.</em></p><p>When it came to Mycroft leaving that morning, Greg felt the urge to kiss him goodbye, but he reminded himself to be casual. They’d shared small kisses at breakfast, but hadn’t touched one another since. Mycroft was very courteous, but distantly so. Greg watched his car leave the driveway with a weight in his chest. </p>

<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Hey Molls, I’m leaving Thursday night </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So do you mind actually starting Friday  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> rather than Sat? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> I don’t mind. Eager to get to the Cape? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Yeah nd you know traffic </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s fine. I look forward to giving scritches to Scratch! </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Greg smiled at his phone as he stretched out on his sofa, Scratch beneath his head as a pillow. No use telling Molly about taking Mycroft to the Cape, though it would probably come out at some point. Keeping it from Jo had been a bit of a challenge while they chatted after yoga class. He’d mentioned that Mycroft had attended the BBQ to Jo, and of course Molly was there. But to tell them he’d invited Mycroft for a weekend away? That would just invite scrutiny that he wasn’t ready to withstand. Not before he learned how to take it easy. </p><p>
  <em> Taking it easy. Take it easy. </em>
</p><p>He did have to explain it to Damien, though.</p><p>He dialed Damien.</p><p>“Yo, man.” Damien’s rough voice was like a warming balm on Greg’s worries. <em> Maybe it’ll be fine. </em></p><p>“Hey, how goes?” At his voice Scratch slid out from beneath his head with a disgruntled <em> mrrp </em> and hopped to the back of the couch. </p><p>“Doin’ alright.” Greg could hear another voice, low and muffled, some feet away from the phone on Damien’s end.</p><p>“Got company?” Greg grinned.</p><p>Damien’s throaty chuckle was all the answer he needed.</p><p>“Listen, I’m coming in on Thursday night, k?”</p><p>“You know traffic’s still going to be a bitch that night, right?”</p><p>“Well, I figure it might be a little better than Friday morning.”</p><p>“Yeah, especially once you get on the Cape.”</p><p>“So, I thought I’d bring a friend.”He reached up to stroke one of Scratch’s legs.</p><p>“Say what?” Greg could hear the groan of a mattress. “A friend, huh?” </p><p>“Yeah. His name’s Mycroft.”</p><p>“Michael?”</p><p>“Mycroft.”</p><p>“What the hell kind of name is that?”</p><p>“English. He’s from England.”</p><p>“Really? How’d you meet?”</p><p>“He’s Sherlock’s brother.”</p><p>“That asshole?”</p><p>“Ha.” Greg stretched one arm over his head. Scratch slid down the sofa back and onto his lap. “He’s not that bad.”</p><p>“That’s not what I’ve heard you say.”</p><p>“I was just venting. Anyway, Mycroft’s really interesting.”</p><p>“Yeah? Just interesting?”</p><p>“And the sex is off the charts.”</p><p>“Yeah, my man!” Damien laughed. “Well, you’ve always been welcome to bring a friend.”</p><p><em> Just not Jack. </em> Though Greg couldn’t blame him. “Thanks. So, we’ll probably get in late.”</p><p>“I’ll leave the key out for you. But, listen, I gotta go.”</p><p>“Yeah? Company calling?”</p><p>“Something like that,” Damien said. “I’m really looking forward to seeing you. It’s always too long between these visits.”</p><p>“Yeah, it is. I’ll see you bright and early Friday morning.”</p><p>Damien snorted. “Always the optimist.”</p><p>Greg’s grin grew wider. “Talk to you later.”</p><p>“Later.” </p><p>God, it felt good to talk to Damien. <em> And he didn’t ask too many questions. </em>Thanks be to whoever was in the man’s bed.</p><p>With a loud exhale of breath, he stroked behind Scratch’s ears, and considered the other benefit to bringing Mycroft: Damien wouldn’t be egging him on for a random hookup in the public bathroom. Not that the rocketing orgasm wasn’t a blast in the moment, but it was all too brief, and the aftermath was bleak and empty. Damien, on the other hand, thrived on hopping from one toilet stall or a man’s bed to another, but that had never really been Greg’s scene. </p><p>At least, not since his early twenties. Yet, even though, there was something that niggled at the frame of his mind, something that breathed into him the idea that anonymous sex wasn’t going to bring him a lasting happiness. Now that he knew what it was to love someone, and feel loved by them - even if it had ended in a dumpster fire - he was more convinced that casual wasn’t for him.</p><p><em> Oh Jesus fuck. </em> What did he mean, casual wasn’t for him? That’s what he and Mycroft were supposed to be doing right now!</p><p>He scratched the top of Scratch’s head, who kneaded his claws into Greg’s shorts. “I’m in some trouble, old man.” Not that he’d admit it to anyone who could talk back to him.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. The Calls of the Gulls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just want to thank everyone for reading along, and for comments and kudos. I'm very excited to announce that I will be posting twice per week very soon. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Let’s talk about berries and the plants that bear them. The majority of berry-fruiting plants evolved that way for one reason only: they want an animal to eat them. It’s an evolutionary tactic that benefits the parent plant - perpetuating the species while reducing the odds of competition. Here’s how it works:</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let’s take a northern US native, the blueberry bush.. If every blueberry that didn’t get eaten eventually fell off and planted itself at the parent’s feet, the grove that would grow there would be overpopulated. Family plants would compete with each other for resources, forming a stifling, stunting environment where no bush can grow their best. How does the plant combat this? If the flesh of the blueberry is not separated from the seeds, the resulting fermentation and decay of the flesh will kill the seeds. So every blueberry that drops to the ground intact does not become a plant. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blueberries that are eaten, however, and carried off in the belly of a bird or a bear, and seeds eventually shat out somewhere else in the landscape, whether nearby or far away, have a better chance of becoming adult plants, if the conditions where the seeds land are favorable for germination and growth. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s just fascinating, when what seems on the surface fairly benign - of course birds eat berries, they’re delicious - is actually the work of decades of evolution, perfecting a way of transporting offspring and spreading genes. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg shifted gears as the red lights in front of him pulled away. He rolled down the window to let the brisk scent of the ocean air tumble in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft opened his window with a relaxed, “Mmm. Beautiful night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love summer nights out here,” Greg said. The Avett Brothers played softly on the radio, gentle guitar strings and throaty crooning sliding beneath the quiet of their conversation. “Hate the traffic, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took three hours to reach the Sagamore Bridge. Once they’d cross the bridge onto the island itself, it should have been a little over an hour’s drive to Damien’s place in Truro, but the holiday weekend traffic had increased the time to two hours, bumper to bumper vehicles crawling along route 6 like a chain of exhausted lemmings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re almost there,” Greg said in a disgruntled exhale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hear you trying to convince yourself.” The pitch of Mycroft’s voice informed him that the man was smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which pulled a smile from Greg’s mouth. “I do get a little wound up about traffic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would offer to drive again…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re almost there.” He looked at Mycroft. In his light blue polo and khaki pants, with just barely visible brand-new beard on his face highlighted in the dashboard lights, Greg thought he had never seen him so relaxed. “Thanks for offering, though. And by the way, that beard of yours is really doing it for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm.” A smile lingered on his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shadowy interior of the car allowed Greg to follow his urge to place a hand on Mycroft’s thigh. The warmth in his chest flared when Mycroft placed his hand over Greg’s and held it there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sign for Truro town center appeared beside the road. “Oh good, we’ll turn off here, and then we’ll head north for a few minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the cottages are right on the water?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, bayside. Great sunsets.” Greg took the turn, his stomach tight with anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was near midnight when they arrived. The cottages, lined up in a merry row, were dark with the exception of the outdoor lights. Greg parked the car in front of their cottage - the furthest one from the office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These are efficiency cottages? They aren’t much bigger than the buildings of the tiny house craze.” The shock was obvious in the lift of Mycroft’s voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. It’s got one bedroom, a bathroom, and a combined kitchen and living room, but it’s worth it for the view, and for the proximity. We can check out the National Seashore, the Wellfleet Audubon, and P-town.” He didn’t mention that the rooms were tiny, but he hoped Mycroft trusted him on the view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds delightful.” Mycroft’s words were measured, as if expecting an unpleasant surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night air was cool and the smell of the sea was strong. The crashing sound of waves drifted in from behind the cottages. The stars dotted the sky like rhinestones across midnight blue velvet, and they were the only two people in sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg checked his phone. A text message from Dan reminded him of their mother’s birthday. No doubt he’d done it at her behest to confirm Greg’s visit. It was the big 6-0 for her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pocketed his phone and walked up to their cottage, identified as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beach Rose</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the sign over the door. Other cottages had names like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hydrangea</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seaside Goldenrod, </span>
  </em>
  <span>e</span>
  <span>ach of them named for flowers common to the island. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fumbled through the tin flower pots on the steps until he found the key Damien left out for them and unlocked the door. Inside, the kitchen floor was cheap linoleum, but a thin, stylish carpet covered the lounge end. A Jonathan Adler style sofa and chair were positioned on either side of a small coffee table. The window facing the water was large, the width of the cottage and from waist height-to-ceiling, but the view was pitch dark from inside at the moment. The whisper of the bay waves filtered through the window. He couldn’t wait for Mycroft to see it in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bedroom’s just through there.” He pointed to the door. “Bathroom’s inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft carried his bag into the bedroom. Greg followed. The bed was a double, with a deep blue comforter. A soft, sand-white afghan was folded at the end. The walls were adorned with black and white vintage photos of studly men in beach shorts, hanging out by boulders and holding shells or horseshoe crabs, the ocean in the background. The walls were a pale blue, and the lamp was white with a black shade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Acceptable?” Greg ventured, clutching the strap of his duffel bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled. “Of course.” He went for the closet and began hanging his clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had no doubt from Mycroft’s comments about his travels and from his expensive clothes and car that these were not the level of accommodations this man was used to. But he was trying to be gracious, nonetheless. Greg started to apologize for the meager accommodation when pounding at the door startled both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg grinned. “It’s gonna be Damien,” he said over his shoulder to Mycroft as he left the bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened the door to a grinning Damien, who stood about three inches taller and boasted an enviable bronze tan and sun-kissed curls. “Good to see you!” Wrapped up in a bear hug of an old friend, his tension that had started in the bedroom slipped from his muscles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I've come to say hi,” Damien’s eyes roved over the place, lingering in the direction of the bedroom. Mycroft appeared in the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You ass, you came to look.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Greg held it in. “Mycroft Holmes, meet Damien Fisher. Damien, meet Mycroft.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for lending us your establishment for this holiday weekend,” Mycroft said as he held out his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien gave a wide eyed look to Greg as he took Mycroft’s hand. “Well, he’s got more manners than the last one.” He turned his attention to Mycroft. “Nice to meet you. Hope the drive wasn’t too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was long but the company was excellent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know,” Damien said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Greg frowned at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s eyes tightened. “Well, thank you again. I really should get some rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg gestured to the door. “I’m really glad to see you. What’s on the docket for tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beach, first. I got the cooler all set and a picnic basket.” He winked, as chatty and flirty as he’d always been. “Hope you brought your appetite. The beach pickings this week have been sweet. Beefcake for miles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was always more your thing,” Greg laughed and opened the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien smacked him on the shoulder. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll let you girls alone. Get your beauty rest.” He smirked as he went out the door. “Beach at nine, ladies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, beach at nine.” Greg closed the door behind him. Mycroft had already gone into the bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. I forgot the beach thing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How did I forget the beach thing?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He entered the room where Mycroft seemed to be finishing up with putting his clothes away. “Beach at nine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard,” Mycroft smiled but he seemed distant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, this beach we’re going to...it’s kind of clothing optional.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft paused in his preparations. “Pardon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the worst-kept secret on the island. There are certain paths along the dunes that lead to secluded spots, and there’s one particular spot that the gays have overtaken.” Greg shrugged. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft was no longer facing him, having turned to the closet to hang up one last thing from his suitcase. “If you wish, I shall be happy to attend with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is the nudity a problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not find nudity offensive.” There was something off about his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is clearly an annual tradition with your friend, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, sort of. But it’s not something we have to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t deter you from engaging in your traditions with your friends, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Skipping a year isn’t a problem.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Because it’s just this summer. One summer, remember?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft faced him again. “I shan’t be removing my clothing, but I will go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Good.” Greg smiled at him. “I want to share everything I do here with you.” A shadow crossed Mycroft’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh shit. Yeah. That sounds like something a boyfriend would say.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“We do a lot of fun stuff, and I love the island, even if it is very commercial, kind of overpopulated. It’s special. Definitely a place you should see while staying in the US,” Greg rushed through his words as he averted his eyes and opened his own bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” was Mycroft’s response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg quickly put his stuff away. Mycroft was in the bathroom. He pulled off his clothes and slid between the sheets, letting them pool about this waist so he could leave his chest exposed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Mycroft appeared in his pajamas, Greg patted the spot beside him and winked. “Hey sexy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft snorted, the hard exterior cracked. His eyes traveled over Greg’s chest. Greg pulled the sheet further down to expose his stiff cock. Mycroft ran his tongue over his lips and slid onto the bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The salt smell in the air felt like a homecoming, accompanied by the calls of the gulls and the lapping of the waves onto the shore. It was everything Greg could ask for.</p><p>
  <span>Damien dug the giant, teal umbrella into the sand. Mario, a shorter man with golden brown skin, black eyes and curly hair tied back by a ponytail, rolled out large towels and woven mats. His wiry muscles rippled beneath his skin as he worked. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damien’s flavor of the week.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mario had a slight Latino accent, and brilliant white teeth. Damien loved beautiful men and he always managed to land them. Tourist season on the Cape gave him plenty to pick from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made his heart pinch a bit, to be honest, because in talking to Mario he found he liked him. The guy owned his landscaping business, had a great sense of humor, and shared love for some of Greg’s favorite shows. It sucked to get to know someone knowing it wouldn’t be long before Damien moved on to the next piece of ass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as they were set up, Mario stripped, revealing a thick thatch of hair between his thighs. Greg glanced away after he saw everything. It wasn’t a big deal here - everyone saw everything and hardly anyone was shy. But Greg was never into the full on staring that some of the beachgoers engaged in - it was too overt for his style. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though he wasn’t bashful at all of his own body, he ignored anyone who tried to get his attention by just staring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien followed suit. Greg had seen Damien’s cock tons of times over the years - it was impressive. Greg was no size queen, but those who were came crawling up from the sand to approach Damien at the beach. Some made it their mission to snag his attention if they saw him at a club later. He’d seen plenty of the guys fawning over Damien in hopes of getting a shot at enjoying that girth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg saw Mario’s eyes travel over Damien’s body and linger at his crotch. The man licked his lips. Damien laughed, leaned over, and kissed him full on the mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg chuckled as he looked to Mycroft on the towel beside him. He wore pale chinos - </span>
  <em>
    <span>is the man ever going to wear shorts?</span>
  </em>
  <span> - and another white shirt, half open. The sunlight glinted on his ginger chest hairs. That, Greg realized, matched his beard in color. Did he dye his hair to be darker? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also wore a hat - a straw hat - and dark shades. He’d slathered liberal amounts of sunblock on his skin before they got into Damien’s car that morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft was pointedly not looking at the bodies of the men on the beach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About ten other men aside from Damien and Mario were naked. One group of six had started a game of volleyball. A handful of other men were only partially dressed. Everyone was drinking. One guy started an impromptu yoga class, and bodies of all sizes joined in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced at Mycroft to say something along those lines when he noticed the rigid line of Mycroft’s shoulders and the pin-straight neatness of his posture. His feet, however, were bare, toes in the sand. Long, lovely, and pale, like Mycroft. Greg reached over and placed his palm over the top of the nearest one - the left foot. Aside from a quick mutual handjob that morning, they’d not touched each other otherwise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s head snapped up to his. Greg tried to give him a reassuring smile. Mycroft smiled back, but it wasn’t very convincing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Greg!” Damien called over to him. “You’ve never been a shy one before. You need to work on that tan!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s smile disappeared. Greg turned his head, gritting his teeth. He grinned at Damien, but he hoped it came across as predatory. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why has he decided to go and make this awkward?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Yeah, man. I got this nasty rash. Don’t wanna subject your pretty eyes to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien shuddered. “Gross.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mario draped his arms over Damien’s shoulders and spoke to him - in Spanish. Damien laughed and threw an arm around him. Greg boggled when Damien answered him in kind, albeit more slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t know Damien could speak Spanish. Something to add to his seduction arsenal, I guess.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezed Mycroft’s foot as he pulled his stare away from the two men.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft leaned toward him. “Far be it from me to prevent you from partaking in tradition, Greg.” His voice wasn’t like his own. It was aloof, hardened, professionally distant somehow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather sit here with you. But I’ll take my shirt off.” Greg released Mycroft’s foot and pulled off his tee. He wasn’t as built as a lot of the guys on the beach, but he wasn’t too shabby, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lay back on the towel, basking the sun’s warmth. Mycroft remained upright. Greg searched for something to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, so over that way is a bit of beach fenced off because of nesting piping plovers.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft turned. “Oh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a piping plover chick, but it’s one of the damn cutest things I have ever seen. I’ve only seen one in captivity though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked in the direction Greg indicated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could always take a gander later on, if you’d like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. I did review a book of eastern shorebirds before we arrived here. It would be nice to check them off my list.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your list?” Greg had never seen Mycroft with a notebook or even add anything to his phone when they’d seen birds. “Do you keep it at home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s lips upturned. “It’s all in here.” He indicated his temple with his pointer finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You keep lists of all the birds you’ve seen in your head?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the birds I have yet to see in a region during the appropriate season.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked over at Greg, and Greg could see the imperious lift of an eyebrow. “Way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg laughed. “You’re playing with me. You are yanking my proverbial chain..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assure you, I am not.” And the way he said it made Greg believe him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s incredible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled, and this time it seemed genuine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg looked toward the water to see Damien and Mario grappling waist-deep, each trying to duck the other beneath the waves. He shook his head. “Hey, don’t mind Damien. We’ve been friends for a long time and...he can seem kind of like a jerk sometimes, but he’s really a great guy. He’s done a lot for me over the years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. He doesn’t like me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No. He doesn’t even know you. Let him get to know you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you say.” Mycroft pulled up one knee and let his arm rest upon it. Greg realized then that Mycroft reminded him of a crane. The stillness, the deliberate cadence of all of his movements. The slender height and spear-like gaze. The quiet observation of everything around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, this afternoon? We’ll head to the Point. It’s gorgeous when the sun starts to set and the tide goes out. The bird life at that time is nothing short of miraculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked at Greg again. He smiled a big smile. “That sounds splendid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien came running back to them and popped open the cooler. “Mimosas, ladies?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do know how to treat a lady,” Greg laughed. “Hand one over.” He looked at Mycroft, who gave a stilted nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, maybe the drink will help loosen him up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien handed Greg two mason jars, each filled with a bubbly orange liquid. Enough to get them all pleasantly tipsy in a short amount of time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not gonna cut loose with us, Mycroft?” Damien grinned, his sunglasses gleaming with beads of water. “No need to be so buttoned up, not everyone’s got time to go to the gym. We’re very forgiving here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg let his head fall backwards. “Damien. Don’t be a dick. Go pay attention to Mario. He’ll probably take what he can get before he finds someone else in your bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ouch,” Damien said as he held one hand over his heart. His chest hair glistened like gold in the sun. “You wound me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg let his grin slide back out. “Slut.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prude.” Damien licked a drop of mimosa from his thumb then stuck it out at Greg. Mario came up behind Damien and grabbed his mimosa and took a sip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’ll take that walk by the dunes, now.” Mycroft stood with his mason jar of mimosa in hand. He held it almost awkwardly; he kept looking at it as if opening the lid might be some great puzzle he had to unwrap first. Greg stood with him, feeling thrown off balance. “Thank you for the mimosa. It shall provide much needed fortitude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why is he talking like that?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But maybe that’s how he always talked?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe he got more formal sounding when he was nervous?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or angry?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit. Was this going to be a repeat of the Jack fiasco?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glared at Damien. Damien shrugged and then turned to wrestle his mimosa from Mario, who laughed and dodged his attempts, kicking up sand as they dashed away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg couldn’t help his eye roll as he turned to follow Mycroft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, are you alright?” he said when he caught up to the man. “If this is making you uncomfortable, we can leave. We’ll just take Damien’s car and we can pick up those assholes later. Well, the asshole and his lay for the weekend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft seemed to be gaining control of his breath, thinking hard about something. Greg stepped forward. “Please, tell me how to make it right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s tongue ran along his upper lip. “I’m just exhausted this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t lie to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s head whipped up. “Lie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t like it here. And I know Damien isn’t making it any easier, but he’s just...the last guy I brought was an asshole to him…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>and to me…</span>
  </em>
  <span> “so I think he’s just defensive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. And, when you’d gone in the past, I imagine you had more fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, clearly you and Damien have a history-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Greg said. “Damien and I are friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wanted to be more, at one point, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg whirled around to watch Damien give some tongue to Mario. “Damien’s a slut. And we’ve always been friends. Good friends, but nothing more than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why is the man so territorial when it comes to you?” Mycroft asked. “And while I am not always a likeable man-“ he paused, “- I have given him no reason to dislike me except that I am sleeping with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg bit his lip. Made a decision. “Okay, listen. A few years ago, I brought my ex, Jack. And Jack and Damien got into a huge fight…” He drew in a deep breath as his mind wandered to Jack’s petulant frown and Damien’s hot, angry glare. “It was stupid. Basically, Jack was jealous of my friendship with Damien. He said Damien flirted with him when I wasn’t around. Said Damien wanted what we had. That Damien’d made a pass at him. Damien said Jack made a pass at </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was a crazy weekend and I never want a repeat. Since then, Damien’s been a little doubtful of my choices in men. It nearly wrecked our friendship - and we’ve been friends for a very, very long time.” Greg pushed back a fringe of his hair. It was time to get it cut, as much as he liked to play with the spikes. “Damien saved me when I was just some dumb gay hick living in the backwoods of Maine. And when Jo got pregnant, he tried his best to be there for both of us, but his uncle was sick and leaving him this place... It wasn’t an easy time for him. Not just because his uncle was sick, but because it had always been the three of us for a number of years, and suddenly it was more me and Jo, and less about the three of us. And when he moved out here, he always stayed in touch with me, visited me, invited me out here. This is a friendship that’s important to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft clutched his jar. “I don’t wish to interfere with that, Greg. After all, a friendship of so many years is nothing compared to one summer’s...arrangement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crestfallen, Greg turned from him and stared out on the ocean. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s all it is. So, why are you going to such lengths to make him comfortable? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Listen, the plovers are over this way. Why don’t we walk along the fence and see if we can catch sight of a nest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that likely?” Mycroft looked relieved and interested as he peered toward the hilly areas of beach grass and sand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve seen the parents. I’ve seen nests and eggs. I have yet to see an actual chick in the wild, and it might be a little late in the season, but why not try?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tension seemed gone from Mycroft's face. “Very well. Let’s do it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mycroft seemed eons better than he had that morning. While Greg added another shade of tan to his skin, Mycroft remained unadulterated milky white. The rest of their time at the beach was talking birds, books and artists. Provincetown brimmed with creative types, and on their way to the used bookstore, Greg had walked into every gallery they passed to admire the paintings and photographs on the walls. He was especially taken with a certain piece - a small encaustic of the bay at night, and on the horizon, a line of cottages on the shore. The windows of the cottages were lit so the yellow-orange of the light punctuated the deep ocean blue of the entire canvas like hopeful embers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is gorgeous,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you ever think of moving out here when Damien did?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. Jo was pregnant at the time. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t a bit jealous, though.” He kept staring at the painting. “I mean, look at this. It’s magnificent. The expanse of sky. The blues. Those bright lights in the windows. ‘First you figure out what each one means by itself, the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop full of moonlight. Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story</span>
  <em>
    <span>.’</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More instruction from Ms. Oliver?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg grinned. “This place inspired it. And this is where she’s lived most of her life, with her partner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft tilted his head at the painting. “It is lovely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. To be honest, if I could afford it, I’d cover my walls in art from P-town. Starting with this piece.” He gazed at it for a moment longer before they left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d stopped for a late lunch at the Lobster Pot and continued their walk down the street. Greg was glad Damien and Mario had opted to go back to bed, and planned to meet them later for dinner. Right now, Greg was on a mission as they strolled down the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah! Here we are!” The sight of the wooden sign with peeling paint proclaiming </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tim’s Used Books</span>
  </em>
  <span> was like a snap locking into place. Greg’s world was right. At the end of a cobbled path and a thin boardwalk was a ramshackled building. Mycroft gestured for him to lead on and Greg did with a smile. The rich smell of wood pulp and glue hit him as he opened the door. He tossed a smile at the guy behind the register - a man with greying hair and his nose in a book - and pulled Mycroft toward the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is my favorite place on the whole island. Well, except for maybe the Point, and the Audubon. And the National Seashore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm.” Mycroft’s lips pulled into a smile that caused crinkling in the corners of his eyes. He scanned the shelves. “Seems easy to gain your favor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you saying I’m easy?” Greg asked with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If the shoe fits.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg barked a laugh and bumped his shoulder. “Worked out for you didn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s glance was heated. “I daresay it did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg couldn’t stop grinning. Then he said, “But seriously, this is where I buy my drugs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” Mycroft turned to face him with a slightly alarmed look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg led him to the poetry section. He grabbed a book from the shelf and presented it to Mycroft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, the one you admire so much.” Mycroft took the book </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dream Work</span>
  </em>
  <span> from Greg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is. I started reading her fifteen years ago. It was...I mean, it was a confusing time in my life. Peregrine wasn’t born yet. Damien’s uncle owned the cottages - he left them to Damien, like I said before. So Damien was coming up here in the summer to help his uncle finish some work. Jo was super pregnant and I was about to be a dad and everything with her family and with my family was fucked. Damien had his own shit to deal with. And he sent me this book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damien reads poetry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He does. Don’t let the swagger fool you. Damien’s like a crustacean - hard outside, soft, gooey insides.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft made a face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg grabbed the book back from him. “Anyway, every time I’m here in the summer, I make one trip to Tim’s, and I buy a book of hers. Either a copy of something I don’t own already, or a copy of something for someone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because of that time in your life, and this book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It changed the way I looked at the world.” Greg walked over to the salesclerk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After buying the book, he handed it to Mycroft. “Now it’s yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg.” Mycroft looked down in surprise. “I...thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked out of the store. Eventually, Greg looked over at his companion. Mycroft still held the book, stiffly at his side. His gaze stayed ahead. He looked as if he was concentrating. For a moment, it reminded Greg of Sherlock. Pushing that thought from his mind, his eyes dipped down to Mycroft’s open collar. Maybe Damien and Mario had the right idea of going back to bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was a place where they could openly show affection without getting judgmental looks, so why wasn’t he making a move?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, they didn’t really show affection except for when they were in bed. But he’d held Mycroft’s foot at the beach that morning, and Mycroft didn’t reject it. Maybe he could do more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gathering his courage, he reached over with one hand and slid his fingers into Mycroft’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That broke Mycroft’s reverie, and he glanced at Greg with a surprised look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can do this here.” He nodded his chin to the women walking in front of them, hand in hand. They passed a colorful drag queen advertising a show featuring a lineup that was no doubt raucous and funny, but Greg’s attention was absorbed in Mycroft and none of the words made an impression. Rainbow flags and stickers adorned doorways and shop windows. He could feel Mycroft's tension melt away and the slight pressure from his fingers as he returned Greg’s clasp. It made his heart skip a beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the evening was a breeze. They ate dinner with Damien and Mario. Mycroft spoke a little bit about his work in England, and what London was like. Damien knew a lot of people coming in and out, and waved to them. Mario sat beside him, flirting with the waiter and then with Damien who pretended not to notice. Greg told them Mycroft had a list of birds he wanted to see in the region, and that he kept the list memorized. Damien and Mario challenged him on it, and Mycroft was off - listing everything from American oystercatcher to white-rumped sandpiper. He started the list again with the Latin names to which Damien exclaimed “you are shitting me,” and Mario whipped out his cell phone to test him. Mycroft got each shorebird correct, and while he did it, the drinks tallied up. It wasn’t long before they headed for a club, buzzed and laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a dancer,” Mycroft said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither. But, c’mon, didn’t you take dancing lessons or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft shuddered. “For some years. Sherlock, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock dances?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ballet and ballroom. Fourteen years of study.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the violin?” Greg pulled up. “Wait, you said you play an instrument, too, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it, really? Are you any good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are very drunk. I play adequately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Play or played?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s lips twitched. “Play.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow. So I’m guessing you don’t have it with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft snorted. “Yes, I carry it with me in a bag I borrowed from Mary Poppins.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg roared with laughter and linked his arm through Mycroft. Damien and Mario were walking ahead of them and twisted to see them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft plays cello!” Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two pairs of eyes lasered in on Mycroft. Then Damien glanced back at Greg. “Musicians are always good with their hands,” he said and winked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! I play guitar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh excuse me, I meant </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> musicians, not people sitting around playing at being musicians.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg is perfectly adequate with his hands,” Mycroft said, and there was a recognizable heat in his voice that tugged at Greg’s cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddamn. Let’s forget the club and go back to the cottage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, no way!” Damien pointed a finger at him. “You are coming out for a good time. Let’s show the Brit how we party here on the Cape.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it that different from how they party in London?” Mario asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet it’s different from how he parties, anyway,” Damien replied in a low voice, but Greg caught it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get fucked, Damien.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Later, thanks.” Damien wrapped an arm around Mario. Greg found himself copying the gesture with Mycroft. Mycroft leaned into him as they walked and Greg was engulfed in a ball of bliss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The club was dark, throbbing, full of bodies. It was pre-firework, but already the drinks were flowing and the dancefloor was busy. A slender white boy who looked barely legal was dressed in red hot pants and offered them a tray of jello shots. “First round’s on me!” Damien announced and handed him cash - a dollar per shot - and passed around the colorful confections.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I going to regret this in the morning?” Mycroft said into Greg’s ear over the music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably!” Greg laughed and swallowed the shot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft swallowed his, and then his face twisted into one of disgust. “That was vile.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a Jell-o fan, huh?” Greg said as he passed the empty cup to Mario, who gathered them all and headed for the bar, shouting something about getting this round. Greg wondered what he might bring back, and took a few seconds to worry about their respective mornings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That left his mind when Mycroft curled an arm around his waist. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alcohol really has an effect on him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He stretched one arm around Mycroft’s shoulders, and directed him to the dancefloor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the night passed in a blur. Greg remembered keeping his arms tight around Mycroft, moving those hips in the rhythm of the music. Mycroft danced just </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine,</span>
  </em>
  <span> though he was hesitant at first. Once he was in Greg’s embrace and moving with his body, he melted a bit, like a cold stick of butter on a heated pan. Greg rolled his hips against his and kissed the side of his neck. Mycroft moaned and buried his head into Greg’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At one point, he felt hands on his hips and the press of an erection into his ass. Mycroft wrenched Greg away and blocked the offending would-be dance partner with his body. Greg glanced and saw that it was Damien, who was laughing as he captured Mario in his arms and kissed him hard.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are mine,” Mycroft hissed into Greg’s ear, and Greg wrapped himself around Mycroft like a bear on a tree. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yours,” he promised as the crush of bodies moved them away from Damien and Mario. The world narrowed, condensed, balanced on the precipice of lust and gratification. Anticipation. Grinding their hips together, feeling the press of each other’s erections, other bodies brushing against them. Greg’d never wanted to come so badly in his life, and he wanted to see Mycroft too in that explosion of ecstasy, his face a rictus of pleasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fireworks are starting soon!” A shout near his ear. “Rory says he can get us on the roof!” Damien pointed to a tall, thin guy with sharp cheekbones and frosted hair. It broke the spell, but Greg knew it would be easier to slip away after they watched the fireworks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kay!” Greg nodded and grabbed Mycroft by the shoulders. Mycroft’s curl fell over his forehead and his face was flushed, sweaty, like he often looked after sex. Greg pushed down the urge to lick him and urged him along, following in Damien’s narrow wake, elbowing past other dancers locked in their own liminal space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ended up in a stairwell and eventually in a cramped office drowning in piles of paper. From there, they went out the window and onto the rooftop. Mycroft looked askance at Greg, but quickly took his hand and Greg helped steady him on the flat shingles. They walked hand in hand to the flattest part of the roof overlooking the water. People were spread across the beach behind the club, some sitting on towels in the sand and others standing, arms thrown around friends and lovers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien and Mario sat beside Rory. Three other men joined them - no one Greg recognized. He sat next to Damien and pulled Mycroft down beside him. They wrapped their arms around each other and leaned their heads together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t long before the show started. Fireworks rose into the air, bursting with bright colored light and sending a shock through Greg with every loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>boom</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>crackle.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mycroft looked at him, a crooked smile on his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg swore in that moment that he had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Pebbles of Rain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome to twice-weekly posting, everyone! I hope to do this until the end, but real life may get in the way at times and slow it down. We'll see how it goes! Fingers crossed!</p>
<p>I'm sorry I haven't been able to get to responding to everyone's comments! I will catch up soon. Lots of love, and know that I read every one of them. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>New England is renown for its captivating fall landscape - a glorious palette of oranges, reds, and yellows. And what we're seeing? The actual color of the leaves. That lustrous green we see during the growing season is the result of chlorophyll production. When chlorophyll production ends, the leaves reveal their true colors.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And while we love green, when that startling sunset of coloration explodes in fall, we're enthralled. There is a simple kind of beauty in truth, after all.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft sat at the edge of the bed in the cramped little room, fully dressed, his hands clasped between his knees. His back was bent and his head faced forward, shoulders drawn up near his ears. Greg dried his hair with a towel. “Hey, hungry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft turned his eyes to his and dipped his chin. “I’m not sure I should eat just yet.” He did look pale, like the inside of a clamshell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, me too.” His stomach gurgled in protest, but he hoped it was passing. They drank copious amounts of water which led to an early morning visit to the bathroom for each of them. When Greg had come out, Mycroft had handed him more water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His phone vibrated. Greg chewed his lower lip as he read a text from Dan, getting annoyed now that Greg hadn’t answered him about their mother’s upcoming birthday party. Greg exhaled as he typed out a response. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course I’m coming. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He threw the phone down on the bed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God. A weekend in Acadia would be nice. But a weekend with them?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He wasn’t sure he could take it. His mother drinking a few too many and taking conservative potshots at liberals. Dan being his stoic self and barely saying a word to Greg. Nate and Evie growing up faster than he could keep track of. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Better to focus on the here and now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought today we could bike,” Greg said.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure I can muster up that much physical energy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha. You and me both. But it might be good for us to feel the ocean breeze on our faces. Get some fresh air.” Mycroft didn’t look at him as he dressed. “Let’s have some coffee. Damien dropped off croissants. We don’t have to bike. We can just take it easy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He came inside?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He does have a key, and he told me he’d do it.” He pulled his shirt over his chest and down to his waist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft didn’t say anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg returned to the bathroom and added some product to his hair. The shower had refreshed him, and while his stomach wasn’t hundred percent, he thought he was recovering quite nicely considering the evening before. After the fireworks, they’d danced for another song and then caught an Uber back to the cottage, leaving Damien and Mario at the club. Both of them were drunk and exhausted, but they managed to rub off against each other before conking out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He went to the kitchen to find Mycroft toasting the croissants in the toaster oven. Coffee was made.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he said as he poured himself a cup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” And there it was. That crisp, professional tone. It had come in waves throughout their evening, disappeared after a sufficient amount of alcohol, only to return this morning. Greg wanted to snake his arms around the man and squeeze him until he told Greg what was wrong, but he had the feeling Mycroft would just put him off. Again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe whatever it is will blow over.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Maybe he wasn’t used to vacationing in close quarters with someone else. Maybe Greg did something to annoy him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are we borrowing bicycles from Damien?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg quirked an eyebrow as he held his coffee to his lips. “I thought you weren’t too enthused by that idea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am amenable.” Mycroft sat in the booth. He sipped his coffee and stared out the large picture window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The waves stretched into the distance, a mix of midnight blue and vibrant green below a periwinkle blue sky. The sea foam crests of the waves rushed onto the sand about twenty yards from their cottage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Let’s go.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>In some ways, he thought he should have seen it coming. Mycroft was reserved, buttoned up, ridiculously prim and proper. Beachside vacations that involved biking and clubbing would not have been his cup of tea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg went outside and got the bikes ready, a pit in his stomach. He decided not to worry over it. He popped the kickstand in place outside the cottage door. Mycroft joined him outside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It has been some years since I have been on a bike.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>“Well, I’m told riding a bike after many years is like...riding a bike,” Greg said with a bashful smile.</span> <span>“It’ll come back to you.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled at that, and some of the heaviness in Greg’s stomach shrank to see it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They got on their bikes, snapped on their helmets, and cycled down the short driveway and onto the road. It was only a few minutes before they took a turn to the left to head for the town center. Greg checked over his shoulder from time to time to see a grim-faced Mycroft on his bike, white-knuckled at the handlebars.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe it’s the main road.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The continuous string of cars passing could be a little nerve-wracking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They turned onto the less-used roads. Navigating through some of the narrower streets could be a little tricky between parked cars, pedestrians, other cyclists, and passing cars, but they were quieter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg’s shoulders relaxed as they broke out onto a side street with no cars. No one was out. A few thin trees provided a bit of dappled shade. They could bike at a calm, unhurried pace, and maybe Mycroft could relax a bit more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A loud clatter sounded behind him accompanied by an angry shout. Greg whipped around, bringing his bike to a halt. Mycroft was lifting himself to a stand, holding his bike by the handlebars. His face burned scarlet as he avoided Greg’s gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t do this!” He let the bike go, and it crashed to the ground. Mycroft limped - </span>
  <em>
    <span>limped</span>
  </em>
  <span> - to the sidewalk and sank to the curb. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Greg turned his bike and swung himself off, steadying the bike as he neared Mycroft.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not...I’m not this person.” Mycroft still wouldn’t look at him, and his hands fluttered in front of him like two pale birds unsure of where to land. “This is...I don’t ride bikes like children. I don’t go dancing. I don’t grow beards.” He sank his forehead into his hands. Greg yearned to gather him up in his arms. “This is not who I am. I am not some likeable person who travels to other countries to have handsome men throw themselves at them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The world around them condensed to this point: Greg, still holding his bike, standing there with his chest wide open and his heartbeat stuttering, and Mycroft, in pain, crumpled in on himself despite his usual rigid carriage, or that swift and sensuous movement he was capable of when relaxed and happy. It wasn’t right and nothing was quite making sense.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft shot up to a stand and fumbled around in his pockets. “I will show you. Even these clothes that I wear - I bought them all here, after meeting you! I thought, I thought…” He grumbled something to himself as he brought out his phone. He swiped the screen and his thumbs wiggled and tapped  away as he navigated to where he needed to go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stalked toward Greg, his limp slighter now, and held out his phone. “That is me. That is what I look like. That is how I dress - daily. Even on days when others deem it appropriate to </span>
  <em>
    <span>lounge</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I dress like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg looked at the photo. Mycroft stood next to Sherlock, and next to what must have been his parents. All were dressed in what looked like Sunday best - the men in suits, and Mycroft’s mother in a flowery blouse and sleek pants. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft wore a suit with a waistcoat and tie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you wear that because of your job?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Because that would make sense.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Mycroft spit out. “I wear it because I am a powerful man with a certain reputation to uphold.” He pocketed his phone as his eyes blazed with such fury that Greg almost shrank back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg thought about what Sherlock had said. He couldn’t piece it together with this man who stood in front of him, this well-to-do man with rich taste and apparently a temper to match his ginger hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stereotypes, dad,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he could hear Peregrine admonish him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you normally wear suits?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft made some kind of loud, annoyed noise and turned from Greg, his hands going to his head and running his fingers through his hair. He faced Greg. “I am Mycroft Holmes, and I change for no one. I am not this man you believe me to be. I am not someone who wears shirts with the top buttons undone, and I certainly don’t wear anything that isn’t bespoke, and I feel like a...a </span>
  <em>
    <span>slob.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The beard itches, and I’m not...I’m uncomfortable with the level of familiarity I must apparently show to you and your </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He said the last word like it was dirty. “You are impossible to figure out. You’re an unreasonable, emotional mess and God help me, I take you in like a drug. I can’t get enough of you and it makes no sense!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg balked. “I...I didn’t think I was being unreasonable, and I’m sorry if emotions make you -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not listening!” Mycroft said. “I am not who you think I am. I have been pretending to be this agreeable person because for some godforsaken reason that defies me, I want your attention.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Greg pursed his lips. “So, who are you then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am an utterly unctuous, pompous arsehole. Sherlock would say I’m overbearing, interfering, condescending, and superior, and he would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Mycroft replied as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Sweat gleamed on his neck, and Greg sort of wished he could lick it away, despite the gravity of the current situation. “I am not someone who goes on spontaneous trips. Everything I do is planned and calculated. I don’t...I don’t participate in one night stands or in summer flings. I am a force unto myself, and I have never needed anyone. You came blowing through my defenses like some American cowboy, and frankly, I can’t put up the farce any longer.” Mycroft’s shoulders sagged. “You deserve better. I look at the world and I see things that need to be categorized, scheduled, and controlled. You see the world, and you see something deeper. Something beautiful and transcendent and hallowed. You are a romantic, and I am most decidedly not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg swallowed. The sound of a screen door slammed a few houses down. Greg flinched, and looked, but he didn’t see anyone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for lying to you.” Mycroft dug the heel of his shoe into the asphalt of the road. “I’m a fool for thinking I could keep it up for so long. I thought, why not let myself indulge in the attention. I mean, to have your attention at all...it was so unexpected, and I was baffled. But I’m also alone, and I decided that since I was on sabbatical,” he says this word with distaste, “I might as well have something for myself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And the worst part of all this? At times, I wonder if I could have been anyone, and whether it’s me you are attracted to, or if anyone would do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That stung. Greg gripped the handlebars hard. Exposed, flayed, his first urge was to throw the bike down and tell Mycroft to go fuck himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the urge surprised him. It had been a while since he’d felt such explosive anger. After Jack, he’d mostly been deflated. Carried along by the mechanisms of the world rather than any forward propulsion of his own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg stared. And stared some more. Mycroft shuffled his feet as a flush creeped over his neck. That’s when Greg noticed a rip in the bottom hem of his trousers. “Did your pants rip on the bike?” His voice trembled with contained fury.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft blinked at him. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your pants are ripped. Was it the bike?” He asked again, his voice sharper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft dipped his chin. “Caught on the pedal. I suppose I should have rolled them up, or asked about a guard of some kind.” His hands were shoved into the pockets of his pants and his gaze skittered around the neighborhood now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg rolled his bike to Mycroft’s, which still lay on the ground. He set up the kickstand, and bent over to pick up Mycroft’s bike.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft came over to help. Greg held up a hand to stop him. He popped the kickstand. Then he faced the man. The sun had risen further, and the heat of the day was picking up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to be someone you aren’t,” Greg said. “I like you. This you. A lot. I wish you had said something sooner if you were uncomfortable.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who are you then?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not here...I…” Greg had never seen Mycroft at a loss for words. “Well, this trip has been somewhat stressful, but I am at fault. I did not realize...the scene that I would be entering, and I should have known.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That sparked Greg’s curiosity, though his anger simmered low. “Was it the beach? The club?” Greg couldn’t picture the man he’d seen in the photo - three piece suit and querulous, imperious look on his face - in the club, or getting nude at the beach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They did sway my equilibrium, yes.” Mycroft’s lips flattened. “Along with the company. Not you. But…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damien can be a dick, sometimes. But he’s my friend.” Greg bit the inside of his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Of course.” Mycroft looked down the street. “I apologize for my outburst. I can hire a car to take me home. You needn’t shorten your weekend with your friends, and you needn’t spend another moment in my presence.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait. What?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Greg’s stomach dropped. “I don’t want you to go,” he blurted. “I mean, go, if you want, obviously. But don’t go on my account.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft raised his brows at him, and for a moment, Greg felt like a chastened child. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which brought his anger to a full boil.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, this is shit. I thought we’d have a good time here, and I have been having a good time with you. You want to accuse me of latching on just to anyone because I’m lonely? Fine. But you’ve not exactly been truthful, either, have you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft had the decency to cast his gaze to the ground, equally chastened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And, why wouldn’t you let me get to know this so-called real you? What the hell is that about? You say you don’t get guys throwin’ themselves at you, but you changed who you are just to keep my interest? You’re just as bad as me.” The hollow feeling in his ribs widened, started to swallow the anger with a pitiful sadness. “I just mean...you can’t have faked everything. So, you wore new clothes, and you moved outside of your comfort zone and went on a short trip with me, and tried some new activities. That...that doesn’t make you a completely changed person. I still like you, if any part of that was you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It...it doesn’t make any sense.” Mycroft didn’t look at Greg, and he seemed to be talking more to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does it ever?” Greg placed his hands on his hips and eyed their surroundings. No curtains twitched and there were no abnormal neighborhood sounds. “I mean...I thought you were attractive since the first time I saw you. And, we like some of the same things. I mean, we’re both…” In love with birds seemed like a strange thing to say, but it was true. “We love some of the same things. Or were you faking that, too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft slowly shook his head. “No. I am quite enamoured with...with birds, and the freedom they represent.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Freedom</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Like maybe the freedom to not have to wear the same uniform all the time?” Greg ventured. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft’s lips twitched at the corners. “I have never been a likeable man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All the better for me. Means I don’t have to share you.” Greg couldn’t help saying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft looked at him. “But I have been false. And I insulted you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, and that hurt. It did. I’m not over it yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft’s mouth worked for a moment. “I am sorry. I’m the one in the wrong here. I have...behaved abominably. You deserve to have someone treat you with respect and...a mountain of affection.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg watched him. “I think...you want to be that person. Right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft’s tongue ran along the seam of his mouth. “Yes. Your ex was an idiot. To have someone like you -” He cut himself off and turned away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jack was an idiot. And so was I</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we all...adjust ourselves a bit when we first are attracted to someone, and are trying to attract them to us. We want to show our best side, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have fabricated quite a bit of my best side.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, the you I’ve come to know...the bookworm, the opera aficionado, the bird lover, and the film noir fan, all of those are lies?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Mycroft admitted, turning back enough that Greg could see his profile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, it’s the clothes, the beard, and the trip? The new things you’ve done, that you’ve tried out, for my sake?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft nodded, his hands behind his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Do you want to shave off the beard? It’s a little hot anyway.” Greg blinked into the sun. “A change of clothes? Though I can’t imagine the suit would do well in the heat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft heaved a sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know the beard is probably the least of it...but I wouldn’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you so kind to me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg reeled. “Why am I so - </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to you? Why wouldn’t I be?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft barked a laugh. “I suppose I asked for that. You are a naturally kind person. It is one of your virtues. I don’t even mind it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg had to laugh. “You don’t mind that I’m kind?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have found, in my line of work, that kindness can be a hindrance, and sometimes an exploitable weakness.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm. Interesting to know about Her Majesty’s Civil Service.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft’s mouth tightened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that it? You think you’ve exploited me? Kindness is my weakness?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft still wouldn’t look at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, if you think it’s exploitation, please continue. I’m having the time of my life,” Greg said with a laugh. “Or, at least, I was. I was getting to hang out with a fascinating person, we had fun together, we have amazing compatibility in bed, and you appreciate my company. What more could we ask for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It will end.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg’s line of thinking came to a screeching halt. His mouth went dry and his heart pounded like a boxer at a punching bag. “Yeah. Yeah. It will. Maybe it has.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t miss the muscle clenching in Mycroft’s jaw. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is this it?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, we both knew it was going to end eventually.” He moistened his lips and went on. “But, my thought, originally, was that we could have made it really meaningful...really worth the time...if we both threw ourselves into it and made the most of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft stared at the ground. “Made the most of it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” He stared up at the sky. How was he having this conversation over a summer fling?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Because you wanted it to be more than a summer fling.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Mycroft was right. Greg barely knew the guy, and apparently, he wasn’t entirely truthful about who he’d been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sex had been truthful. The moments spying on the barred owl nest. Their first kiss. The breakfasts together and the jokes they shared. How he never laughed at Greg for his simple interests, but encouraged him instead. Accepted Greg for who he was, and was aware of Greg’s emotional neediness and cared for him anyway. Worried that Greg would have been with anyone, and chose him out of convenience.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d like to get to know you,” Greg said. “I think - I think it’s worth it to take the chance on each other. We’ve connected in some ways already that I’ve enjoyed. Don’t you think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Mycroft said, and Greg could hear him swallow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re here for the rest of the summer. We enjoy each other’s company. And when you leave -” he said in a rush of words, “maybe we stay in touch. As friends. No harm in that, right?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please look at me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost as if he heard him, Mycroft met his gaze. It gave Greg a little burst of courage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You...you’ve become important to me.” His heart thumped. “I care for you.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe too much.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Do you care for me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Mycroft said. “I do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. So. We both know it has to end. And that’s...that’s okay. We’ll have fun while it lasts. Right?” Greg swallowed. “And, uh, you don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft grimaced. “Perhaps it would be best if you do get to know me as I am. You might change your mind about me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fat chance of that.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Greg’s stomach somersaulted. “We knew. We knew from the beginning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. We did.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay then. Let’s bring the bikes back to the cottage, get the car, and seize this day.” Greg smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft looked up at him, and smiled back, though it seemed a bit strained. “Indeed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Greg and Mycroft leaned against one another on a woven blanket in the sand. Mario and Damien sat on their own blanket. Others, Sean, who Greg remembered from a previous summer, and his boyfriend Calvin, were sprawled out on another blanket, in a triumvirate of slightly tipsy, queer men around a campfire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The waves tumbled more than several yards away, filling the air with a salty smell that mixed with their woodsmoke. The sky was dotted with stars and a shining half moon. Every once in a while, people walked past their fire, but no one approached. Other fires could be seen about a mile down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With so few people to come into contact with, it seemed to Greg as if the National Seashore was all theirs, a wide, private expanse of beach facing the Atlantic Ocean.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The warmth of Mycroft’s shoulders pressed against his was welcome. Mycroft leafed through the book of poetry Greg had given him. He didn’t know how the man managed to read it in the dancing light of the fire, but he was soft-limbed and at ease, so Greg didn’t disturb him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damien shot him knowing looks but Greg ignored him, choosing instead to listen to Sean ramble on about his job in P-town, bartending at one of the clubs. Calvin was vaping weed and giggled at Sean’s rambling about drunk patrons. Which was amusing in and of itself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This one I know I’ve seen,” Mycroft murmured. He’d stopped on a page depicting </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wild Geese</span>
  </em>
  <span>, one of Greg’s personal favorites, a favorite common to many people. “‘You do not have to be good.’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg smiled as he heard those words on Mycroft’s lips, in Mycroft’s voice, in his soft accent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.’” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg joined in. “‘You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile, the world goes on.’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft closed the book and looked Greg in the eye. “‘Meanwhile, the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers.’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg grinned. “‘Meanwhile, the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.’” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - over and over announcing your place in the family of things,’” Mycroft finished. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a moment before either of them spoke again. Mycroft said, “It’s...exceedingly lovely. I must admit I am not one for poetry, but for this woman’s words...for her deep understanding of the seemingly simple mechanisms of the world, I could be convinced to enjoy it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg’s grin grew wider and he leaned forward and kissed Mycroft. The kiss was sweet, soft, warm, and the world around them ceased to matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least until Damien let out a laugh at something someone said. He caught Greg’s eye, and nodded to him. “I got more beer in the back of the trunk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, that sucks for you, cuz that’s a walk from here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damien smirked. “Okay, asshole, but I’d love to have a few minutes with my best friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg held his lower lip between his teeth. He nodded and separated from Mycroft, bereft of the warmth and pressure of shoulder to shoulder support, and followed Damien into the darkness of the beach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they neared the wood steps that would lead to the road, Damien put his arm around Greg in a familiar gesture. He was at least three inches taller, and liked to remind Greg of that from time to time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck off, man,” Greg laughed, but didn’t move the arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you meet this guy again?” Even in the dark, Greg could tell Damien was smiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Here it comes. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“He was birding at High Point. I saw him while taking Tiny for a walk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow. So, he likes birds. That’s something you have in common.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey. Lay off.” Greg ducked out from under his arm. “What’s your problem with him anyway?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walked single file up the steps. Just as they approached the car, Greg prompted him. “So?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...uh. I dunno. He sort of rubbed me the wrong way when I met him. He’s so...uptight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Jack was too loose. Maybe I need uptight for a while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack was an asshole. This guy’s just an uptight dweeb.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t pick on him just because he’s smart.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s - what do they call it - </span>
  <em>
    <span>posh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg laughed at that. “Yeah. He is. I like it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damien laughed. “Yeah, you always liked the ones with a bit of class, and a bit of money.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow. Now you’re accusing me of being a golddigger?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I got nothing against it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damien. Seriously, man. What is this about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They faced each other by the trunk of the car. Damien leaned against it. “You told me over text that this was just a friend. And, that he’s in ‘town’ for only a few months. He lives in England, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So. You’re falling for him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg sucked his teeth and rubbed his lips together. “I like him a lot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I can’t see how he feels about you. He’s getting the better end of the deal, if you ask me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, just because he won’t undress at the beach?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know I’m not that shallow.” Damien stood and popped the trunk. “I don’t know if he’s right for you. I don’t know that he appreciates you, and you, when you get into a guy, you fall hard. You’ve been a mess since Jack and that was two years ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damien, that was five years of my life. I think I’m allowed to grieve and be messed up for a while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you let him have seven years of your life instead of just the five?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg slid his hands into his short pockets and rocked on the heels of his feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, man. I’m just saying it like I see it.” He lifted a small cooler out of the trunk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you’re kind of being an ass about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, I’m sorry for being overprotective. After Jack, I hate to see you...a mess again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just for the summer. We both know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what you’re telling yourself, but you’re falling in love with him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg’s chest squeezed. He frowned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t even try to deny it. And he’ll use you as his boytoy while he’s here, and then Jo and Molly and me will be picking up the pieces after he’s gone. You know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg stiffened. “Well, fuck. So sorry to be a burden to you all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not how I meant it -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then what the fuck do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just...I just hate to see you get hurt. I care about you. You’re my best friend. I know we don’t talk all the time, and I’m bad about texting you, but every time I see you, you’re like...you’re like family to me. We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg thought back to those years. The years when he’d run away from Maine, from his family, to come to Connecticut, to be closer to cities with clubs and bars just for gay people, to be close to Damien who introduced him to new friends, to go to college where he met Jo, and how all of them were so close. The terrible drug trips, the crazy hookups, the fireworks of youth and folly and fun and the eventual eclipse of all that when Jo got pregnant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s shit,” he said. “I’m...I’m falling for him, and he can’t stay here. He’s going back to England.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Damien said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’ll be alone again.” Greg balled his hands, digging his nails into his palms in his pockets. “But, I can’t help it. Ever since I met him, I just want to be with him. I want to be around him. He makes me happy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damien grabbed his shoulder and gave a squeeze. “Just...have more care with yourself, man. Maybe start distancing yourself a bit. Just...be prepared to let him go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Heat pricked at the back of Greg’s eyes. “Why don’t I get to be happy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could feel Damien shrug. “I don’t know, man. You deserve it more than any of us, I think.” Then Damien hugged him. “Listen, I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I just…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Greg rasped out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Are we okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damien laughed. “C’mon. Let’s get back down there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what’s the story with Mario?” Greg needed to distract himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm? Oh, I met him last fall. I hired his company for the cottages.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there a whole lot to landscape in the sand there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ass. He does the lawn around the office by the road. And the flowers in that one bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, friends with benefits deal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damien chuckled. “It’s...um...a bit more than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg halted. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. We’ve uh...well, we didn’t start sleeping together until spring-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You, Damien Fisher, met a single, hot guy on this island in the fall and knew him for months and didn’t sleep with him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He played hard to get!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You...oh my god, this gets better. You chased after him and he denied you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck off, man. He played the game. We were both sleeping with other people -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was sleeping with other people but not you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damien paused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Oh.” The penny dropped. “You really like him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damien let out a throat clearing sound. “Yeah. I do. And, I thought he’d be a one-off...but he wasn’t interested. And like, okay, I can take a hint. But I knew he was sleeping with other people. And I was, too, so like, no big deal. We became friends.” Damien snorted. “Kind of story of my life - when I actually like a guy, he only wants to be friends.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway, things didn’t change until this spring, when he told me that he liked me, but he knew I was a slut, and he didn’t want to be a notch on the bedpost.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a pretty tall bedpost,” Greg cracked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jackass.” Damien started the walk down the wood steps. “Anyway, I started...taking him out to dinner, and the movies-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wined and dined him into bed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do have some class, you know, Lestrade.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg laughed, and for a moment, he was transported to he and Damien at age twenty. Invincible and dumb and safe with each other. “So. I imagine you guys are fucking by now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, you’re a peach. Yes, we are fucking now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Congratulations.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gee, thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, seriously. Congratulations. I’m happy for you.” Greg smiled and bumped Damien on the arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to be one of those sad, lonely old queens.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg snorted. “You were never royalty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walked in silence toward the light of the campfire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, this dude Jo’s marrying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t you meet him? We never talked about that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One time when I went back to see the folks. He was an okay guy. I know you don’t like him too much…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, he’s kind of an ass to me. But, he’s like...sneaky about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you’ve said. Got nothing like that from him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, maybe it’s because you never slept with Jo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damien laughed. “That’s probably it. Have they set a wedding date?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sometime next spring. Or June, maybe? Peri’s excited.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said she likes him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His stomach twisted. “Yeah. She does. And that’s important.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lucky kid. My stepdad is a douche.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t all be fortunate.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They neared the fire. Mycroft lifted his head from the book to see Greg. He smiled. In the glow of the firelight, his face was like a torch in the dark. His eyes seemed glazed with some kind of emotion, and the roundness of his features with the slant of his nose was like a Renaissance painting. It was as if everything he and Damien just talked about didn’t even matter. It didn’t matter that Mycroft would leave at the end of the summer, it didn’t matter that Jo was marrying someone who was a douchebag to Greg on the sly, it didn’t matter that his daughter didn’t like him anymore and wanted a new dad, it didn’t matter that he sometimes felt like he was stagnating in his job - </span>
  <em>
    <span>and where the fuck did that come from</span>
  </em>
  <span> - and it didn’t matter, because right now, this man was here, and looking at him like that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg almost tripped in the sand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah. I’m falling for him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And that sucks.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. A Kettle of Vultures</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Apologies, y'all! I know I announced twice-weekly posting, and then I didn't post this past Friday.</p><p>If you didn't pick it up from this fic, I do indeed live in the northeastern US, and we were hit with a tropical storm this past week. My family and I were without power, water, and cell/internet from Tuesday afternoon through Saturday evening. It greatly limited my time online or even on electronics. Most of our area was affected. Having a toddler to care for made it all the more challenging, but at the end of the day we're grateful that our house and our chicken coop are still standing (we had several trees come down during a tornado phase of the storm), and that we're all good and healthy. We're also glad to have our power and water back!</p><p>We're still doing clean-up, so it has limited my time for fic, but I hope to return to normal this week. I hope everyone is well themselves, and please enjoy this chapter! I do intend to post the next chapter this Friday, short of another natural disaster or some other RL impediment. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Among many animal species, it is easy to determine whether they are a predator or a prey animal before even looking at their teeth. By and large, prey species have eyes on the sides of their heads - like rabbits and deer - while predator species have forward-facing eyes - like hawks and wolves. It's a simplistic way of looking at the world, but when humans enter a forest, or just their backyard, many of the wild animals flee out of reach, whether they've had a dangerous interaction with a human being or not. Even with our omnivorous diet as a species, other animals recognize us for the predators we are. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It gets trickier among our own kind, though. Sometimes, we don't see the shift of the predatory stare before it's too late. Sometimes, we're ensnared in the talons before we can dodge the attack. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And even if we've freed ourselves, we'll never quite entirely forget that moment where we hung on that precipice, pulling ourselves up and out of the darkness. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s been begging me for a sleepover at Kayla’s and we couldn’t do it last weekend with Marcus’ parents in town for wedding stuff,” Jo said. The phone was warm against Greg’s ear. He leaned onto the desk of his office and stared out the window. Turkey vultures circled in the blue sky, no doubt smelling the food laid out for the birds in the aviaries. “I told her she could do it this Friday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Peri getting to know a new set of grandparents gnawed at him like wood boring insects eating their way through the xylem of a tree. Greg’s mother barely bothered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, no. You’re not getting out of Sammy’s birthday invitation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg groaned as he leaned onto his elbows and raked a hand over his face. “Are you and Molly working against me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Damien,” she answered cheerfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I. What even - who asked you, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We all love you and want to see you succeed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you all my parents? This is weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but we’re family, aren’t we? Family and friends. So stop complaining.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god. This is all I need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen. What happened with Sammy was fucked up. And I’m not saying you have to forgive him for it. Or forget what happened. But...Molly’s told me about some of the conversations she’s had with Sammy recently.” She paused. “I...I really think you should go. I think it would make him very happy, and it would be good for you to face a place where so much shit went down. With people who care about you by your side. You’ll have Molly and Irene. Did you invite Mycroft?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. But...oh fuck, I forgot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He hates clubs. Like, despises them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. But he’s only here for the summer, and you and Sammy were friends for a couple years before the shit hit the fan. And you work with Sammy. And you’ll have to see Sammy after Mycroft is gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you so goddamn reasonable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you need it.” Jo sighed and he heard her rifling through paper. “I’ve gotta set up food tastings with caterers. I’m this close to taking Marcus up on his offer of a wedding planner, because holy shit is this a lot of work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” Greg said. “Did you pick a date?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. June 20th next year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg smiled. “That’s great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, the Save the Dates will go out soon. Peri’s been helping me pick out the stationary. She’s got a good eye for this stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s great. So, she’ll do a sleepover with Kayla and I’ll go to Sammy’s birthday celebration.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And everyone’s happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be fine. Stick with Molly and Irene. Keep Mycroft at your side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he goes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or just stick with Molly and Irene. They’ve got your back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t like dealing with schoolyard bullies. It’s more the stares and the whispers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck ‘em, Greg. Haters gonna hate, right? Show them you’re better, and that you’ve moved on, and nothing about that time matters anymore. You’re not going there to pick someone up, you’re there to have fun with your friends. Let them deal with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg sighed again and picked up a pencil. “I guess you’re right.” He started drawing spirals on a notepad, thinking again of the turkey vultures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Thank you. Okay, I better call these caterers. No yoga this Saturday, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. We hardly do yoga in the summer anyway, what with all our schedules.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You goin’ for your mom’s birthday?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As usual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. But I know Peregrine’s on the cruise that week with you and your parents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jelly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t lie; I’m glad it worked out that way for Peri.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, me too.” He dropped the pencil and hefted himself back in his chair. “Okay, so I’ll let you go. Caterers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh. Dreading it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better you than me. Love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg hung up. Molly appeared in the doorway. “Was that Jo on the phone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eavesdropping?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe. I knew you’d try to dodge out at the last second, so I’m here to make sure you’re coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, turns out I don’t get to use the parent excuse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew you’d try,” she said as she laughed. “C’mon. It’ll be fun. Is Mycroft coming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to tell him it’s at a club. That didn’t go over well when we were on Cape Cod.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly’s mouth twisted. “But you said you had a good weekend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was fantastic.” He and Mycroft had amazing sex after the campfire at the National Seashore, and then the following morning they drove back to Connecticut, mostly hand in hand in the car, or hand on thigh, or hand on knee. They kissed and kissed when they had to part, as if they couldn’t get enough of each other’s taste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was three days ago, and Greg had been walking on air since.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Earth to Greg. You’re ridiculous. Now - Sherlock has been asking about getting the auditorium set up for tonight’s eco-film.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. Tell him I’ll be right down.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>On Thursday night Greg met Mycroft at a local Japanese restaurant with a mouth-watering menu and a solicitous staff. It’d been a while since he’d last visited, but the aesthetic relaxed him. Wood slanted across the creamy white walls created the sense of dining in the middle of a forest with white linen clothes and a small, porcelain pitcher and cups for warm sake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over an appetizer of salty, steamed edamame, Greg asked the question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you’re okay with going to a club tomorrow? Seriously, I won’t be offended if you don’t come. No one will expect you to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, I did say I would go with you. Just know that I won’t be attending any more dance clubs for the rest of this summer.” He stopped as if to think for a moment, and then said, “Unless it’s a ballroom or jazz club. I do enjoy dancing at those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do ballroom dance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock and I both.” Mycroft’s eyes glittered as his eyebrows lifted. “We quite enjoy it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should have known. A willowy body like yours. All that poise.” He gestured at Mycroft. “Of course you had dance lessons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, we talked about this. Though admittedly, you were rather intoxicated,” he grinned. “Regularly, from the age of eight until fourteen. Sherlock did ballet and ballroom from age four to eighteen. He needed to work off the excess energy, and showed natural talent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amazing. Ballet? Are you serious?” The thought of a young Sherlock prancing about in tights was sort of adorable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. He was quite dedicated. Between that and the violin, we could mostly keep him out of trouble as a youth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swing and ballroom. Cello, as you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get out of here. You swing dance? I always thought that was an exciting form of dance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is.” Mycroft sucked on the end of an edamame pod. Greg watched, entranced at how the man’s lips wrapped around the legume, how he pulled it out of his mouth having caught the beans from inside, how he tasted them on his tongue and chewed, swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have care, you may start drooling.” Mycroft said it in a teasing tone, though his own cheeks were pink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t help it.” Greg grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft placed the empty edamame pod on his plate and wiped his fingers on a cloth napkin. “So, is this not your weekend with Peregrine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but she has a sleepover with her best friend. So, to Sammy’s party it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I notice you...speak of this with quite a bit of trepidation. But you enjoyed the club when we went with Damien and Mario. How is this different?” Mycroft folded his hands in his lap. “Is it something to do with Sammy, or with the venue itself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, both, actually.” Greg’s cheeks heated as a wash of something like shame rushed through him. “It’s kind of a long story. My ex…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack?” Mycroft prompted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. He, uh...well, he led Sammy to believe we were broken up, and they slept together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Mycroft’s face remained neutral.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. So I was mad at Sammy for a long time. I mean, Jack and I did break up. Not long after. It was over. But I couldn’t help but feel betrayed by what Sammy did...Jack and I were together for five years, and the break-up was new...I yelled at him a lot. Gave him the cold shoulder when I could. It was...I’m not proud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would seem Jack excelled at causing trouble for you and your friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg nodded, his shoulders rocking with the motion. “You could say that. He was sort of...a jealous type, and then...well, it’s complicated. Anyway, things between Sammy and I haven’t been exactly right. He has this boyfriend now who’s married to a woman and has kids in grade school. But the guy won’t come out of the closet, and Sammy thinks he’s in love with him, and I just think the whole thing is fucked up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it reminds you of the time when Sammy slept with your partner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “It does.” An ugly emotion rolled through him and he chuckled. “He swears he’s not a homewrecker, but he’s certainly done a great job proving otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you and Jack?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To be honest, we were headed for a break-up.” Greg shrugged. “But Sammy was my friend and my co-worker, so I guess I held him to a higher standard. Anyway, Jack is long gone, and good riddance. I’m trying to rebuild things with Sammy. I think we’re getting there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. And the club?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Triangles? It’s Jack’s and mine old stomping grounds.” Greg decided not to get into the rest of it. It was too painful, and too embarrassing. “I don’t want to run into him, or any of his crew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand. Then, I will most definitely attend with you. As support.” Mycroft poured water from the carafe into his glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg smiled. “Thanks. But, seriously. I don’t want you to go if you don’t want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to be there for you.” Mycroft’s eyes met Greg’s, and all that ugly emotion was swept away, leaving only a soft warmth in its wake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Greg held up his cup of sake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft grabbed his and touched it to Greg’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To your re-entry into the local gay scene,” Mycroft said and Greg couldn’t help but laugh. His stomach fluttered as he took a sip, his eyes locked with Mycroft’s. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you agreed to this. I can’t believe we’re here,” Greg said as they headed for the entrance. Triangles was located on a long road at the edge of the small city of Danbury. Located in the basement of a retail building, the entrance was in the back, ill-lit by streetlights and all the closest parking spaces choked with cars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft held his hand. It was wonderful, holding Mycroft’s hand. Those slender fingers, skin against skin, the beating of blood side by side. He was here, at Triangles, where he’d met Jack all those years ago - over seven years ago? Where he’d made and lost friends, where he was once a Big Deal, and was later dethroned and exiled, sent running with his tail between his legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Jack liked to kick puppies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then send a mob to set them on fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re frowning,” Mycroft said in his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy caught sight of them from the doorway. “I thought for sure you’d come up with some excuse at the last minute!” He wore the tightest black jeans and a black fishnet shirt. His eyes were done with eyeliner and a touch of glitter. Andy was beside him, dressed in blue jeans and a black shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irene burst out from the shadows behind him and hugged Greg, then Mycroft. Her wife, Kate, stood behind her. She and Greg hugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kate, meet Mycroft.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irene pulled him aside. Her lipstick was a devilish red, and her hair was piled atop her head so the brown ringlets framed her face. “So, here’s the plan. Molly, Kate, and I will always be with Mycroft. No one will get to approach him without having to go through one of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A feeling of sheepishness washed over him, but also his friends were looking out for him, and for that he was glad. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re just waiting for Molly. Maybe she’ll bring a date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good god, Irene, leave the poor thing alone,” Kate said. She was a voluptuous woman with blond hair and the perfect resting bitch face. Greg loved watching her handle Irene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irene stuck her tongue out at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey everyone!” Molly came around the corner of the building and a round of hugs moved around the group like ‘the wave’ at a stadium. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, shall we?” said Irene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s,” Kate said as she proffered her arm to Irene, who took it and snuggled in against her as they walked to the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They paid the cover and entered the dimly lit club. A bar and pool tables filled the first room. Patrons gathered around the tables, eyes lingering on them as they entered. Sammy and Andy headed straight for the next room where the dance floor was located. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg scanned the faces he passed, and though he recognized some of the regulars, he didn’t see anyone problematic. He relaxed, just a bit. It had been their regular thing - he and Jack’s - to come here on Friday nights. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drinks?” Irene said as they entered the dance room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg nodded and directed Mycroft to the bar across the way. After ordering beers, he turned back to watch the floor. Mycroft watched from beside him, a slight curl at one corner of his lips. He was definitely judging the dive bar aesthetic and the mass of wriggling dancers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can leave whenever you want,” he said into Mycroft’s ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here for you,” Mycroft said, and placed his hand over his wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg smiled and turned back to the bar to grab the pints of dark beer with a thick, foamy head. When the bartender winked at him, he ignored it and turned his attention to Mycroft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He handed him his beer, and leaned against the bar to watch the people. The dance floor writhed with mostly men, but some women could be seen among the bodies. Queer women and fag hags alike, probably. Sammy, Andy, Irene and Kate held their drinks aloft as they entered the vibrating throng. Molly appeared beside Greg, sipping something fruity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you gonna stay at the bar all night?” Molly yelled over the music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Greg nodded. He felt some eyes on him, but he couldn’t tell if they were just checking him out, or if they were interested in causing trouble for him. His stomach was a flurry of nerves, like bees in a dark hive performing waggle dances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned into Mycroft, seeking comfort and warmth, and Mycroft slid an arm around him. The speakers were pumping an eighties remix. The crowd bounced along whether or not they were on the floor. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, and no one seemed to pay any special attention to them. On the far side of the room, people walked in and out of the door that Greg knew led to the outdoor patio. He’d spent many a night out there smoking cloves - only one per club night after Peri was born - and bandying about a variety of topics with people he thought were his friends. It was the only place, along with the pool room, to have any semi-private conversations without shouting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft kept his arm about him as Greg and Molly talked-shouted about some of the dancers - hairstyles, dance moves, choice pieces of clothing. Greg told Mycroft a little about some of the other gay bars in the state, and Molly soon switched places with Irene, who ordered them all a round of kamikaze shots. Molly was a stiff dancer on the floor and they laughed about that, but Kate was helping her loosen up and it was all in good fun. Sammy and Andy came by for a moment for water and headed back out to the floor. Kate switched with Irene, and she called for a round of lemon drops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If they get a round of tequila shots, I’m out,” Greg told Mycroft, who looked faintly alarmed at the prospect. Greg was getting good and buzzed, and he could tell by Mycroft’s hooded eyes that he was feeling it, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly came up, her face flushed and her eyes bright. “Get out on the floor, Kate! I cannot keep up with Irene!” Kate laughed as she hurried past Molly and to the dance floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg laughed, and then realized the drinks were hitting him in another way. “I gotta get to the gents,” he said to Molly. “Stay here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded. Greg leaned toward Mycroft’s ear. “I’m headed to the bathroom. Be back soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled and kissed him on the cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg bounced with the music across the floor and toward the mens room. He still had the feeling of being watched, but considering the appreciative glances coming from some of the men - no one he recognized - he pushed it away and slipped into the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A guy at the sink washed his hands and met Greg’s eyes in the mirror. He was an older guy, and someone Greg knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neal!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neal whirled about as he grabbed a paper towel to dry his hands. “Greg!” He smiled, and it seemed genuine. “It’s so good to see you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neal had a shorn head, a pale, lined face, and dressed all in black. Greg had him at High Point once, years ago, to photograph some of the raptors. He worked for a local paper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Been a while!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it has.” Greg tried to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. “You know, been busy with work...and well, after all that happened…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That crap with Jack? Please. That bitch is cancelled.” Neal rolled his eyes and tossed the crumpled paper towel into the trash can. “He used to be hot stuff, but some of us got tired of his games.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I never believed that stuff he said about you anyway.” Neal held out his hand for a shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg took it, though he wasn’t sure of the sincerity. Neal hadn’t said anything to him back when the rumors were flying, and never reached out to him when he became a social pariah on the local scene. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish you could have talked to me back then,” Neal said, as if he knew what Greg was thinking. “I had no idea what went down for a while. I was traveling a lot, and when I got back, I heard a bunch of shit and you weren’t around anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re back tonight!” Neal spread his hands as if to say <em>voila!</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And who’s the guy you’re with at the bar?” Neal's smile bordered on cheesy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, his name is Mycroft.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he good to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is.” Greg smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. See you out on the dance floor later?” He headed for the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.” Neal said with his too-wide grin. “Nice seeing you again, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Neal. You too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neal went through the door and Greg went to the urinal, feeling a bit winded and spun about. Now that he recalled, he didn’t actually see Neal in the wake of the break-up with Jack. Neal might actually be telling the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Greg finished his piss and washed his hands, looking at himself in the mirror, He’d spiked his hair up with product and wore a simple navy tee over jeans. He looked good. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe this won’t be such a bad night after all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A cheer rose outside the door, and the music fell into quiet. The DJ was making an announcement. Sounded like an impromptu wet t-shirt contest was starting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened, and two young guys with their arms slung around each other came in. They glanced at Greg. One of them winked. They were cute, and once upon a time, Greg might have had a mind to be their third. Many, many years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he had someone wonderful waiting for him at the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled at them and walked past, ignoring their appraising rake of his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He entered the dance room and strode toward the bar, feeling better about this than he had in ages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And froze. Standing next to Mycroft was a slender guy with buttery blond hair. His head was lowered, and his shoulders sagged, like he was upset about something. Mycroft was standing tall, as he always did, and he was listening to what the man had to say. The room slid away, a cacophony of noise and bodies and shadows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Greg said. He snapped toward the dance floor to find Sammy, but Sammy was busy watching the proceedings as the DJ organized the contest. Irene and Kate were nowhere to be seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning back, Greg realized he needed to execute damage control. As he approached, he could feel a deep, near-forgotten anger start to uncoil and burn in his gut. His feet felt like they'd been dipped in concrete while his chest burned with rage. If he could have opened his mouth and unleashed fire like a flame thrower at that tousled head, he would have.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jack.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Next to Jack was Shawn, and next to Shawn was Olivier. Jack’s usual entourage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he neared he could hear Shawn simpering in that nasally tone of his, “You know, we wouldn’t have said anything but we saw you standing with him, and we couldn’t just not say anything, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly appeared from the shadows beside him. “I realized I must have dropped my card on the dance floor, and I had to get it. I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Olivier saw them coming and tapped both Shawn and Jack on their shoulders. Greg steeled himself to face Jack after so many months. Jack’s jaw set when he saw him, though Greg didn't miss the flash of excitement in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn, ever the drama addict, gasped loudly, and exclaimed, “Well, Greg! What a surprise!” He rolled his eyes over to Olivier and then back to Greg. “A surprise that you’d show your face around here, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg kept his gaze on Jack. It wasn’t fair that the man was beautiful, with sculpted cheekbones and soft curls at the end of longish hair. Brilliant eyes and a perpetual smirk. He didn’t want to know what Mycroft was thinking. He wished he knew what Jack had been saying, and he wanted to salvage the situation somehow, but the rage was white hot and brittle. It clouded his mind with a fog of fury.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack.” Greg could hear anger in his voice as he spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack </span>
  <em>
    <span>quailed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Greg knew the routine. It had happened when he showed up to the clubs and bars after they broke up. Jack would act fearful of him, like he’d actually hit him. </span>
  <span>This cringing in front of him was all a display, and it attracted exactly what Jack wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Attention. Greg could feel the weight of more eyes watching them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><em>Damn it. </em>He couldn’t do this here. The important thing was Mycroft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Greg looked at him, he saw that Mycroft was watched Jack with a placid sort of interest. Eyes analyzing, but at ease in all of his limbs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg took a step toward him, ignoring how Jack stepped away and Olivier and Shawn blocked Greg from him, as if he needed Dumb and Dumber's protection. “Mycroft, I see you’ve met my ex. Sorry, he’s a tosser.” He smiled as he said it, relishing using the British lingo, knowing Mycroft found it amusing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Mycroft did smile, as his eyes twinkled and his lips twitched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What say we step outside for some fresh air? It stinks in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s that bird shit you step in, old man,” Shawn said. Olivier gave a yelp of laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shove it,” Molly said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh watch out everyone, he’s got his fag hag with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He’s got more than that,” Irene announced as she and Kate came upon their group. Irene had a certain coldness to her eyes, but Kate looked pissed. Greg decided not to watch the fur fly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held out his hand to Mycroft, and almost collapsed with relief when Mycroft took it. Not that he showed it to everyone watching. He kept his legs braced and his shoulders set back and his spine straight. Head held high. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This way.” Greg led him across the room to the side entrance that went out to the patio.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they reached the night air, Greg released Mycroft’s hand and crossed to the far side of the patio. He turned to face Mycroft who followed him on quiet footsteps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your ex is...charming.” Mycroft said, a smile playing on his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t do it.” Fear gripped Greg’s heart as the heated rage at seeing Jack faded, loosening its grip on his tongue. “He says that I did all these things. I lost all my friends because of him, even Sammy for a while. All I had was Jo and Molly. He has all these guys believing, believing I’m some kind of monster. Whatever he said, Mycroft, it isn’t true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it isn’t.” Mycroft’s gaze on him was steady, reassuring. Greg licked his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good - I’m glad. I didn’t...it was such a fucked up mess.” Greg looked around to see if anyone was listening. A couple of younger patrons were smoking at the other end of the patio, wearing tight clothes and glitter eyeshadow, deep in their own conversation. Tables and chairs lined one end with large umbrellas shadowing them from the pasty light of the outdoor sconces. A few near lifeless shrubs in planters dotted the pavers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had wondered if the reason you weren’t in ‘the scene,’ as they say, was because you had left a line of broken hearts. But, I see now, you had a psychopath for a former lover.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack messed me up,” Greg admitted on an exhale. “I didn’t want you to know how messed up. I didn’t want you to know anything. Molly was supposed to stay with you at the bar. She would have stopped Jack from saying anything. I’m not - I’m not hiding anything. It was just so fucked up, and you’re so perfect...and I didn’t want any of that shit to touch you. To touch us.” Greg placed his hands on top of his head, looking up at the sky, wishing the ground would swallow him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why is Jack so interested in preventing you from entering relationships with other men?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg dropped his arms. “Hell if I know, Mycroft. He was always kind of jealous. He didn’t even believe me when I said I was leaving. Thought I was playing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmph.” Mycroft glanced back at the door leading into the club.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did he say?” Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It matters not, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just - I just want to know. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft faced him again before answering. Rubbed his lips together. “He said that you committed a number of infidelities with men and women. That you gave him an STD from one of those women. And it was strongly implied that you were physically abusive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s stomach iced over. He clasped his fingers together. Looking around again to make sure no one was listening, he said, “I didn’t.” It was hard to breathe and he started wheezing. “It - it wasn’t like that -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re becoming upset, Greg,” Mycroft dropped his arms around him and pulled him close. “Let’s leave. Sammy is rather intoxicated and Andy is bringing him home. Molly is headed home soon, anyway, and the rest of your friends are dancing after their little conversation with Jack and his friends. Let’s leave here, and you can tell me anything you need to get off your chest. Or, you don’t have to. I think tea would do us all some good; wouldn’t tea be lovely right about now, Greg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg huffed a laugh. “Yes, My, that sounds good. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft pressed a kiss to his temple. “Greg, I believe you. I hope you realize this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes stung with tears. “Let’s get out of here before I ruin my mascara.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft chuckled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then I’ll tell you everything,” Greg said. “Everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Cathartes aura</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>Cathartes aura.</span>
  <em>
    <span> This magnificent bit of Greek and Latin translates roughly to “golden purifier.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cathartes</span>
  <em>
    <span> finds its root in the Greek “katharsis,” which is all about release, relief, purging, and cleansing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aura</span>
  <em>
    <span> is from the Latin aureus - golden. Isn’t that lovely? Golden purifier. Golden release, relief, purging, and cleansing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Cathartes aura </span>
  <em>
    <span>is the taxonomic assignation of none other than: the turkey vulture. Yes. This big, oft-named “ugly” scavenger of roadkill is considered the golden purifier. Think about it: if we didn’t have animals who cleared the ground of dead things, disease would be more prevalent. Could you imagine the smell? The service provided to us by scavengers and decomposers is an important one. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>One other thing a turkey vulture is known to do? When they feel threatened, a turkey vulture will purge the contents of its stomach. The bird is made lighter - easier to fly away, but also, the resulting stench of the upchuck is often enough to deter a predator from coming closer.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catharsis. Literal or metaphorical, turkey vultures are out there living their best lives.   </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mycroft drove. He was the most alert and steady of the two of them, plus he’d never finished his beer. The further away from Triangles they got, the more tense Greg began to feel. The radio droned beneath the stampede of his thoughts: they’d been dating - </span>
  <em>
    <span>dating, right? Or just friends with benefits?</span>
  </em>
  <span> - for almost three months. It didn’t seem likely that Mycroft would believe Jack and his cronies over Greg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it didn’t stop him from agonizing over the possibility that Mycroft might decide it was too much drama. Too indicative of Greg’s neediness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re worrying,” Mycroft said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg worked his throat muscles as he thought of what to say. “It’s, uh, just been something I wanted to forget. I didn’t want to go to the club, but Sammy didn’t think he’d be there, and Irene and Molly -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, you don’t have to explain. In fact, you don’t have to tell me anything. Everyone is entitled to their privacy in regards to the past.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had Greg thinking - would he ever learn about Mycroft’s relationship history? He said there wasn’t anyone in England, and he didn’t think he’d be the target of “handsome men,” but still, he’d had some kind of history. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that ring. Greg still hadn’t asked about the significance behind the wedding band. Which seemed silly at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pulled into Greg’s driveway. Once inside, Mycroft brewed tea for the two of them. Watching the man move around with ease in his kitchen squeezed at him in a way that made him feel both soft and nervous. Eventually, he curled onto the sofa, where Scratch made himself at home in his lap. He was stroking Scratch below the chin as Mycroft entered with the tea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he said as Mycroft put his cup on the end table. For an instant, he thought about making some crack about tea being the Englishman’s go-to when the going gets tough, but he didn’t want to poke fun at Mycroft’s impulse to comfort him. It was appreciated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft sat beside him. “Greg, we can sit here and watch a movie, if you’d like. As curious as I am, I am also willing to put all curiosity aside. Your comfort takes precedence over my unnecessary satisfaction.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I don’t mind. It...it might explain why I haven’t -” he gave a little wave with his hand, “- dated anyone in a while, anyway. And, even though this thing between us is casual,” he said as smoothly as possible, “I think I’d like to tell you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg blew out a breath, his hands cupping the warm tea, Scratch loudly purring in his lap. “I met Jack at Triangles. He’s a big flirt, and I was flattered by the attention.” He stared into the surface of his tea as he remembered Jack’s expression - almost always entertained, as if everything around him was funny. “I got his digits, and then we went from there. Casual for a few months, but then he started making big gestures. He’s...he's pretty wealthy, but I think he was looking for someone to take care of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s eyes glinted. “A daddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s stomach flipped. “Uh, I guess?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack is a perpetual child. While he was going on about the type of man he wanted me to believe you to be, he was trying to appeal to my sense of...fatherly protectiveness.”  Mycroft was watching Greg’s face. “Am I to assume the man has a daddy kink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A blush crept up his neck as he averted his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a common fantasy, Greg. You’re wonderfully...paternal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you implying that you have a daddy kink?” Greg tried to sound funny, but he hoped Mycroft didn’t have that particular predilection. It would be too close to some of the scenes he enacted with Jack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heavens, no. I’m merely comforting you, and I don’t judge you for it. Or him. I judge him for his complete lack of conscience.” Mycroft settled back into the chair. “I do like that you are a nurturer. You care for me, but you allow me to care for you, also. I prefer the give and take we have. Without familial monikers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s cheeks flushed with warmth. “Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were quiet for a moment. Mycroft reached over and stroked Greg’s arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, we were together for five years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft's eyes widened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg laughed. “Yeah, I know. Long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had figured it was a while, considering your attitude about him and the situation with Sammy, but five?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I mean, the first few months were casual.” Greg thought about the word ‘casual’ for a second. He’d just applied it to this thing between him and Mycroft, but it didn’t fit. He could see that now, because what he and Jack had during those first few months was definitely casual. And then Jack said he wanted a “real relationship,” and Greg had agreed, because Jack was a catch and thought Greg was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I’m gonna sound a little shallow. I was flattered by his attention. A lot of people wanted him, and he was a life of the party type, and a big flirt, but he was my flirt. It...made me feel good, made me feel important. I didn’t know that he was - cheating now and again. I think I suspected, but I didn’t want to believe it. He wanted me to move in with him. I liked my set-up at the center, and I had the mews, and it wasn’t like I could build one in the backyard of his condo complex, so there was some arguing over that. I wasn’t going to give up falconry, though. And, I needed a room for Peregrine, which he didn’t have. He accused me of not loving him enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pushed his fingers through his hair and gave it a tug at the ends. “Anyway, as we were coming up on year five, I, uh...well.” He shook his head in a moment of self-deprecation. “So, about what he told you… Jack gave me an STD. I - I had all the symptoms, and then I got checked out and it was positive for - for gonorrhea. I was so angry, and I confronted him about it, and he flipped out! Just...flipped out on me. Accused me of cheating, of being dirty, and he said he didn’t have it - he went to the clinic that day, and actually came back with a clean bill of health! All I can think is that he must have had it, and got the meds for it before my symptoms showed -” Greg dropped his face into his hands. Mycroft’s hand on his shoulder gave him a gentle squeeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was so fucking embarrassing, My, and even though I hadn’t had any sex with anyone but him, I started thinking maybe I got it some other way, even though - obviously - he had cheated on me!” Greg huffed, his words half muffled by his fingers. “I-I was so turned around by then. Jack is smarter than me. He had everything all twisted in my head, and it really fucked me up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft leaned into him, and Greg welcomed it. The cat in his lap was warm, as was Mycroft, and he absorbed it like a sponge. “And, finally, I called him out on it, and he begged me for another chance. So, I said yes, like an idiot. But, we fought a lot. I...I couldn’t trust him. I mean, not only did he cheat on me, but he made me think I’d given him the STD! I - I didn’t know what I was thinking. And when I finally admitted it all to Jo...well, you can just imagine how that went over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She cares very much for you,” Mycroft murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah. I used to think...it’d be easier if I was straight and she and I got married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft didn’t say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stupid. I know. I was just...not feeling myself. At the time. Anyway, she showed up at my house while Jack was over and the two of them got into this screaming fight, and I had never felt so humiliated and angry and...just devastated. I told him to leave after he said some unkind things to Jo. I could see his jealousy then. I hadn’t realized just how insanely jealous he was, or is, as a person. Looking back on how he sort of isolated me from my friends, how he treated Damien and Jo, even Peri. He was even jealous of the hawks!” Greg set the tea on the end table, not trusting himself with his now shaky hands. “And then, he kept calling, like, he was going to get me back. And that’s when I learned about Sammy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy and Jack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Sammy and Jack.” Greg bit the corner of his mouth. “I’ve forgiven Sammy, though...I guess his thing with Andy…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Puts you on edge, because it reminds you of him and Jack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I don’t think Sammy...I mean, I think Sammy does love Andy, and maybe Andy is in love with him but afraid to leave his wife? I don’t know the whole story there. But Sammy is with a married man and it’s been an off and on thing for over a year now.” He shrugged. “It puts me on edge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s understandable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, I found out from one of Jack’s friends - Shawn - that Jack and Sammy had slept together before the big upset between him and Jo. When we were trying to fix things. I confronted Sammy about it, which didn’t go over well...you know, working together…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A nightmare,” Mycroft said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I mean, I kept it as professional as possible, but I’m the senior naturalist, you know? Sammy works beneath me. So, it was very uncomfortable for a long time, and I didn’t exactly try to make it comfortable for Sammy.” Greg flexed his hands and rubbed his face. “Honestly, I’m kind of surprised that Sammy still works there. And that he’s trying so hard to be my friend. I’ve been an ass to him for almost two years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed. Leaned his head on the back of the couch. “And tonight was supposed to be about showing everyone that Sammy and I were okay, and that I had moved on from everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I take it Jack made your break up very public?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did more than that. As you mentioned...he told people I gave him an STD, and that I had been sleeping with women, which is why he went looking for comfort from men. He used Peri’s existence as evidence that I was bisexual. And, to top it off, he told them I was physically abusive. It didn’t take long before it was made clear to me that I was no longer welcome at Triangles.” Greg let out another sigh as he stared up at the ceiling. “And, the last time I went was a little over a year ago. I got told off by the bouncer in the doorway, and then a bunch of Jack’s friends showed up and started telling me they were going to call the police and report me for stalking Jack. Who I guess was inside at the time, but I didn’t know that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They said they had proof, all of them were witnesses to something I did that was stalker behavior, or that they saw Jack with bruises, and shit like that. That Jack had his gonorrhea paperwork ready to show some judge as proof that not only did I physically abuse him, but that I gave him an STD.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The gonorrhea that Jack claimed to never have?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.” Petting Scratch kept him calm. “I’d never been so embarrassed, so angry in my life. I tried to call Jack to tell him he was wrong, but a guy picked up and told me he was Jack’s boyfriend and that if he ever saw me or if I ever called Jack again, he was going to pound me into the pavement. He told me to stay away from Triangles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft seemed to be holding his fists together in his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, uh. It explained a lot. I had tried to go on a few dates before that, but people sent me messages on the apps saying things like they didn’t want an STD, and that they didn’t want to end up in the ER. Like, I had never lifted a finger to Jack! Sometimes, we did scene with, um, spanking, but nothing hardcore.” Greg’s knee started to bounce with frenetic energy. Scratch gave him a look, and hopped off, stalking away with his tail held high. “So, that’s it. How I became a pariah in the gay community around here. If I wanted to get off with someone, I had to go to New Haven, or the Cape! And...the idea of dating anyone scared me a bit, honestly.” Greg watched until Scratch strutted out of sight. “Before Jack, I hadn’t really had any relationships. I was a gay man with a kid. I was busy a lot. And before Peri was born, I did a lot of hooking up, and some relationships that were more short-term. Nothing like Jack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. Then, Mycroft said, “You’re a kind man with a big heart, and that... psychopath took advantage of you.” His voice was hard, angry. Greg leaned away from him to study him. Mycroft’s fists were still clenched, and his shoulders were back and rigid, his head bowed toward his lap, his eyes unseeing. “If this were England…” Mycroft turned his face to the side, away from Greg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If this were England, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. There’s nothing I can do about it, and it’s in the past.” Mycroft faced Greg. His eyes burned into Greg’s, his mouth set in a furious line. “That reprehensible profligate didn’t deserve you, and the damage he has done to you deserves swift justice. I only wish I could do that for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg bit his lip, then threw his arms around Mycroft. “Holy fuck, I’ve just...I’ve been…” He shuddered as waves of relief slammed through him. His spine rippled with shivers as tears sprang to his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. You’re all right.” Mycroft stroked his arms and his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘M sorry. I’m a mess.” Greg wiped his face with one hand. “It was all so fucked up and it really fucked me up. Y’know? I...my family isn’t really around, and Jo’s getting married and Peri is...distancing herself from me, which I get, she’s a kid, and she has to be independent. My friends were gone - either they were friends with Jack or they live elsewhere or I’ve lost touch with them. And work is all I’ve had, really. Work, and the birds, and Scratch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft petted his hair in a way that was soothing. “I understand what it is to be lonely, Greg. For a long time, I’ve had my work as my one piece of solace. My purpose. Sherlock lives across the sea, and my parents are self-sufficient and travel often, and I...don’t really have friends. More, associates. For a long time, now, I prided myself on my ability to enjoy solitude, but really...I’ve had a bit too much solitude, I think.” His lips pulled into an amused smile. “You’ve...opened a place in me...a place I had closed a long time ago. I didn’t realize that I had been so numb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg wanted to say it. Surely, with everything Greg had told Mycroft, and everything Mycroft said, Mycroft felt this was more than a summer fling, didn’t he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a healing summer for us both, perhaps.” Mycroft stroked Greg’s hair back from his forehead. “Perhaps we’ll both be better men for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Summer.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Yeah. Right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mentioned family. Your brother and mother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m supposed to visit at the end of the month. It’s my mom’s birthday.” Greg groaned. “God, I sound so whiny. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t trouble yourself.” Mycroft pressed his mouth against the side of Greg’s head. “I understand the drudgery of family obligation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. It shouldn’t be that bad. I love Maine. I’ll be there for the party and for some family time, but I’ll also go visit Acadia and take a good, long hike one morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the National Park?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. You know Acadia? Most people who live in New England aren’t even aware of Acadia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unfortunate. I’m sure it’s very picturesque.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s Maine for you. Picturesque.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to see it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maine? You should.” The bell rang clear in Greg’s head. “Oh. Uh. Maybe you could come with me? Not like, not to meet the family or anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See Acadia?” Mycroft said, his head tilted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Maybe we could meet in Acadia?” Greg kept his voice steady. “No pressure, though. My mom’s party is Saturday. Her house is only an hour from the park. We could rent an AirBnB and I could take you birding in one of America’s picturesque National Parks.” Greg laughed and waved a hand in the air as nervous energy bubbled through him. “It’s a completely different ecosystem. We could go whale watching, and see puffins!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft was smiling. “They are rather fetching birds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg smiled back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This could work. Maybe I’m not completely crazy. He’s agreeing, after all, isn’t he? </span>
  </em>
  <span> “I could treat you to Maine lobster. Their industry has been completely revitalized by their regulations. It’s a testament to transforming a fishing industry into something sustainable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, with an offer like that, how can I refuse?” Mycroft pressed a kiss to Greg’s mouth. “I accept.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bubble of nervous excitement popped inside him. “Excellent. I’ll look at some places we could stay -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft held up a finger to Greg’s lips. “Allow me, Greg. You hosted us for the Cape. Allow me to find a place by Acadia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Damien lets me stay for free. I didn’t pay -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I am most grateful that you shared your space with me,” Mycroft said with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, with the sex we have it’s not exactly a hardship.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft laughed. When he stopped, his eyes grew hooded and a suggestive smile lingered on his mouth. “Speaking of…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg perked up, an answering smile growing on his lips. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we should definitely take advantage of having ended our evening out early, and wash this...club crud off us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Smashing idea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I must admit, ever since I noticed the presence of this device in your shower, I have had thoughts,” Mycroft purred into his ear. Greg’s back pressed against his chest as they stood beneath the spray. The fleshlight was attached to the tile wall. Mycroft had poured a dollop of conditioner into his palm and was working Greg’s cock with it; gripping, pumping with the tunnel of his hand. </p><p>
  <span>Greg’s knees buckled. He moaned. “Tell me about these thoughts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I lied earlier when I said I wanted to watch you get off while fucking it.” Mycroft’s polished diction sounded absolutely sinful when he swore. “What I really want to do is fuck you, while you fuck it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s cock jerked in response, and he whined, “Fuck me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I plan on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft gently pushed Greg forward, guiding his dick into the entrance of the fleshlight. It was warm and silky around his cock, and letting Mycroft control his movements caused a warm spooling in his gut that promised a quick orgasm if he didn’t warn him ahead of time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft,” he breathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be still for me. You’re not allowed to fuck it, yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Mycroft.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg smiled, his eyes closed, his whole body suffused with pleasure. The shower tile was cool against his forearms as he braced himself upright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingers prodded at his cleft, and slid into his hole. Greg whimpered, wanting to move his hips and fuck the fleshlight while fucking himself on those fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you move without my cock,” Mycroft said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, Mycroft,” Greg rasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare.” Greg could sense Mycroft’s movements, and then something hard and blunt notched between his cheeks. Mycroft’s left hand held Greg’s left hip. His right hand lifted Greg’s right cheek as he pushed his cock in, slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Greg moaned. “Oh god.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait. You’ll wait for me.” Mycroft dug his teeth into his shoulder. Both of them grunted and gasped as Mycroft pushed further into Greg. He was full; he was being split open and the burn was immense and welcomed, and he knew in no time at all that he would relax and Mycroft could fuck him as hard as he wanted. Greg spread his legs further, tried to push himself back on Mycroft’s cock. Mycroft jerked his hips, thrusting into Greg so Greg slid further into the fleshlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just like that.” Mycroft kissed the skin he had bitten. Greg hoped the teeth marks remained, that they’d stay tattooed into his flesh as a souvenir of this night. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mycroft believes me. He cares for me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They stilled. Greg breathed, bore down, let Mycroft’s cock enter him further, fill him up with hot, rigid flesh. It pressed against his prostate in a pleasurable nudge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move,” Greg whined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In a moment,” Mycroft said, and Greg could tell by his voice that he was smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Mycroft gave one last push, and Greg could feel him slide inside, Mycroft’s pubic hair tickling at the skin of his bum. Mycroft kept pushing, and Greg’s cock was completely sheathed by the fleshight. “Now,” Mycroft said, “I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to fuck it every time I drive my prick into you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking hell,” Greg choked out as Mycroft began thrusting, gently at first, and then picking up speed. Greg was overcome with sensation - his dick surrounded by a tight wetness, and his hole stuffed with cock, shower water pelting down on his skin, Mycroft pressed against his back and his teeth gripping the back of Greg’s neck. Greg couldn’t control the movement of his hips, only let himself get fucked by Mycroft while his dick fucked the fleshlight. His hands scrabbled against the tile of the shower wall, and he keened as his groin tightened with pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god,” he breathed. “Oh god!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, just like that. Are you close?” Mycroft’s voice in his ear ratched up the overwhelming cloud of sensations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, oh god,” Greg whined. He could feel Mycroft’s breathing pick up as the speed of his hips increased, shoving Greg into the fleshlight. Greg screwed his eyes shut as the muscles in his groin contracted and a burst of pleasure flashed and rippled through his body and his cock. He yelled with his orgasm, spilling once, twice, three times into the fleshlight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft held him there, stroked his flanks, rubbed his nose against the back of his neck. “Do you feel good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Greg moaned. “God.” He leaned his face into his hands, blocking his cheek from the cold tile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft pulled out, and Greg could sense him jacking himself. Warm strings of come hit his skin as Mycroft groaned loudly, and then lay his head between Greg’s shoulder blades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” Greg said. Mycroft lifted his head. His hands squeezed Greg’s ass cheeks, and then slid up into the semen along his tailbone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love seeing you covered in me,” Mycroft said, then kissed his spine. “I apologize for...acting so base…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can act base with me all you want,” Greg grinned into the back of his hand. “Just clean me up before we get out of the shower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t long before the two of them were dried, snuggled in bed together, no pajamas on, but a single sheet between them to keep their skin from sticking together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What time shall I set the alarm for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm? Well, Jo isn’t coming by until 10 with Peri.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft kissed his head. “I’ll set it for 7. Enough time for morning sex and breakfast before I go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning sex is first priority,” Greg said, half-muffled by his pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello? We’re here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg lifted the sheet and poked his head out. The room was bright with daylight and the door at the bottom of the stairs was ajar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg?” It was Jo. “Are you still sleeping?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft raised his head from the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck,” Greg said loudly as he sat up in bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo’s laughter filtered up from the stairwell. “Really? Was the night that good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh.” He glanced at Mycroft, whose face looked slightly alarmed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not hungover is he?” Peri asked. Jo whispered something to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Greg said.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Threading the Seed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Everything in nature that exists has a role, an ecological niche, that we don’t always understand. Imagine seeing pink lady’s slipper - a gorgeous North American orchid. You bring some home, or perhaps just the seeds. You provide the seeds a rich, acidic soil similar to the one you found them growing in. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The seeds do not germinate. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lady’s slipper seeds are missing something intrinsic to most other seeds - food. Many seeds carry food packets inside them for when they germinate. Lady’s slipper has evolved to have a symbiotic relationship with a fungus that threads through the seeds, breaking them open and passing along nutrients. When the plant is older, the attached fungus then benefits from the nutrients the plants bring in. The only fungus that provides this service to the plant are members of the </span>
    <span>Rhizoctonia</span>
    <span> genus. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wonder, sometimes, if the seed is aware of the fungus, and what it must endure - that invasion of space, that first puncture that forces it to open. Does it know that the future holds a beautiful relationship of give and take? How can it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be down in a minute,” Greg called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool. I brought breakfast!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg looked at Mycroft, whose mouth was slightly ajar and hair was mussed about his head. “What time is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft scrabbled at the nightstand for his phone and checked. “Seven fifty-three. The alarm never went off! I must not have...” He glanced at Greg. “I never sleep in this late!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither.” Greg pushed himself up and off the bed. “Shit, why are they here so early?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I parked my car at the Preserve and walked here,” Mycroft reminded him. “They won’t know I’m here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pulled his bathrobe from the back of the closet door. “Um, I guess, you could stay here, or you could come down and meet them…I mean...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, um, I’ll get dressed and if they’re still here...I mean, obviously your daughter will still be here…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah. It wasn’t like he was going to ask Mycroft to leave by way of the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri was fifteen. Adults dated. Including her dad. And he wasn’t hiding Mycroft from her, he just wasn’t in the habit of introducing Peri to people, unless they were going to be some kind of permanent feature in his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which wasn't Mycroft...but she didn’t have to know that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she wouldn’t remember him from the Preserve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Jo would know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slid into his bathrobe and put on his briefs. “Might as well come down for breakfast. You can have half of mine,” he said and smiled at Mycroft, who was putting on his own clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he got downstairs, Peri was perched at the dining table with her head bent over her cell phone, and Jo was putting out wrapped egg sandwiches from their favorite breakfast place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri glanced up. “Wow, Dad. I don’t even get to sleep in this late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someday you’ll be an adult and can decide your own schedule.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri rolled her eyes and went back to her phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry we’re early,” Jo said. “I texted you, but quite obviously you didn’t get it. I brought you coffee!” She held out the cup in a conciliatory offering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said. “I, uh, was sleeping.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo cackled. “Late night, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Mycroft and I met up with everyone.” Greg stared at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo’s smile faded. “Oh, he went with you?” She glanced at Peri. “I thought you said he wasn’t the dancing type.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, he went with me.” He looked at Peri and then pointedly at Jo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Footsteps echoed on the stairs, coming down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo’s eyes widened. “Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri lifted her head. “Who else is here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, my friend Mycroft.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Friend?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peri said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. My friend.” Greg looked over his shoulder. “Please be polite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m always polite,” Peri said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Polite people don’t sit at the breakfast table on their cell phones when there are other people to talk to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo gave him a look as she crossed her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, but it’s true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo turned to the kitchen archway just as Mycroft appeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jo, Peri, please meet Mycroft. Mycroft, my best friend Jo, and our daughter, Peregrine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s face was a mask in geniality. He was dressed in khaki pants that outlined his legs perfectly, and a white button down with the buttons done all the way up. The sleeves met his wrists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg remembered the photo of Mycroft in the jacket and waistcoat. The man kept himself covered. Did it keep him feeling protected? Was that why he wore all the clothing he did when in England?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’ve heard very good things from Greg,” Mycroft extended his hand to Jo, who shook it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you too, Mycroft,” Jo said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then to Peri, who shook his hand. “Where are you from?” Peri asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“England,” said Mycroft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like your accent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Jo said. “I’m so sorry we interrupted your morning. Mom wanted to get an early start and then Esther needed to move up the time anyway for her fitting because she has some kind of hair appointment she can’t miss - you know she planned it on purpose, but I’m going to get through this wedding without screaming at her because then I’ll be giving her what she wants.” Jo crossed her arms and shook her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To turn you into a bridezilla?” Greg asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowned. “Exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a stupid term,” said Peri. “Like, people should be able to get upset about things that happen while planning their wedding without being called names. Now no bride can get upset without the fear of being accused of being a bridezilla. It’s a way to keep women in line, and I’m opposed to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must agree with you, there,” said Mycroft. “But on that note, I should be going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way, sit down, eat with us! We’ve got hash browns to share!” Jo waved a hand over the food on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would not only not wish to impose, but I must be going,” Mycroft said briskly. “I have errands to run, and hadn’t planned on staying this late this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it was nice meeting you anyway.” Jo’s hazel eyes sparkled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, nice meeting you,” Peri said, and Greg could hear a note of amusement in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The pleasure was mine. Good day, ladies. Greg.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “I’ll be in touch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, talk to you soon.” Greg’s stomach flipped to see Mycroft head to the door. He didn’t want Mycroft to go, but Mycroft was more socially awkward than he had realized at the beginning. Though he didn’t mind seeing that the pants really did something for his ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re staring,” Jo said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pulled his eyes away just as the door shut behind Mycroft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo smirked. “Sorry about ruining your morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg put a smile on his face. “Not ruined. Just...unexpected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, he’s your boyfriend?” Peri asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg didn’t want to explain the nature of their casual relationship with Peri, so he said, “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How come you didn’t tell us about him?” Peri asked, her eyes narrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg looked guiltily at Jo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You knew?” Peri asked her mother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg’s mentioned him. I didn’t realize they were...serious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg didn’t want to say that they weren’t supposed to be serious in front of Peri, so he shrugged. “I didn’t want to introduce him to you, Peri, unless he was going to be sticking around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s from </span>
  <em>
    <span>England.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Did he move here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg cringed. “He’s staying a while on sabbatical. He’s Sherlock’s brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri’s eyes widened. “Sherlock’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, he must have a lot of patience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg snorted with laughter. Jo smiled and grabbed her egg sandwich. “Let’s eat, and then I have to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lucky you brought coffee,” Greg smiled at her as he took a sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know you love me,” she laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, he’s going back to England?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably at some point.” Greg didn’t want to say it would be at the end of the summer. They were halfway through July already. He realized he didn’t even know what date Mycroft was leaving. He must have a date, right? Or an approximate one?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach settled with dread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo elbowed him. “What are your plans for today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg looked at Peri. “Well, I think this is our Christmas in July weekend, isn’t it?” It was their tradition to have a Christmas movie marathon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri smiled. “Let’s start with Krampus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect,” Greg grinned. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, seriously? He’s going with you to Maine?” Jo was crunching on some chips, and the crinkle of the bag came clear through the phone line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not to meet the family. Just to see Acadia. I’m visiting mom first, and then meeting him on the island.” Greg stretched out on the sofa. The outside humidity was too much and he was enjoying the AC. Peri was in her room with the music playing loud. They’d stayed up late watching Christmas movies, and spent the morning at a tiny cafe where they shared their favorite reddit posts over coffee and eggs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo’s phone call didn’t surprise him - he was expecting it. And he had a feeling Peri told her that they were each doing their own thing for the next hour or so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still, two trips in one summer with him? I get the sleepovers, but you two are going on dates and vacations?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re short trips. For birding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Birding?” Her voice reflected her disbelief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He likes birds. We have plenty of forest types around here, but Cape Cod has an amazing array of shorebirds and Acadia has some others.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. But listen, I’m enjoying myself, all right? He’s...he’s awesome, and I’m getting out, and doing stuff with somebody awesome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why does everyone think I’m going to get hurt? Why can’t I have a little fun?” He reached over to his guitar and plucked a few strings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t been that guy, the guy who has a ‘little fun,’ in years! And I don’t think you were ever really that guy when we were young, either. I think because of Damien and his friends and the scene, you did hookups, but you were always looking for more,” she said. “And you thought you found it with Jack. You were really happy. At first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and look where that got me,” Greg grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My point exactly,” Jo said, then groaned. “I mean, not that you shouldn’t have gone looking for a lifetime partner, but that you should look for someone who will actually stick by you, because that’s what you’ve been looking for all along. I don’t know why you gravitate to people who won’t be devoted to you, but you kinda do. And then you let them get away with shit that you shouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jack</span>
  </em>
  <span> isn’t exactly a sample size.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Damien</span>
  </em>
  <span> would have stuck by you. He left because you didn’t or couldn’t love him back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg felt as if he’d just been struck with a bat. He reeled. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Excuse me?</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was never like that between us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know! And that’s okay that you didn’t feel about him the way he felt about you -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re acting like Damien was in love with me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, Greg. You know he was. Why do you think he reacted so badly to my getting pregnant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? He was thrown by the fact that I slept with a woman, yeah, but he didn’t leave Connecticut because of that. He was going out to help his uncle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Out of the blue like that? He’d never said anything about it before,” Jo said. “Listen, we’re getting off track.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no. I’m keeping on track with this. I know Damien was attracted to me, but it was a long time ago, and by the time you were in the picture, he was over it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s where you’re wrong, Greg.” Her pained sigh poked at him like a needle. “Listen, I wasn’t going to say anything. But, when I got pregnant, he didn’t talk to me until Peri was born, when he texted me congratulations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg was silent for a moment. “Maybe he was just really busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He couldn’t even look at me.” He could hear her tapping her fingers against something. “It wasn’t until years later that he and I were fine again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he and I were fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you really? You were in a tailspin. Damien was just sort of there floating about, and then he was gone. You only just barely noticed because we were fighting off our families and getting ready for the baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But how is that my fault? What does it have to do with all this? I should have been in a relationship with Damien because he would have stuck by me? I didn’t love him. That wouldn’t have been fair to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. It’s not...listen, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. I just meant...you remember Carlos?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The mechanic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was a nice guy,” Greg said, on guard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He liked you, too. And he wanted a relationship with you. But you didn’t give him the time of day, just fucked him and that was it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t even...have you been holding onto all this? Carlos knew what was up. We had sex, and that’s all it was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then you went into a relationship with Owen, who was joining the military. You had a three month relationship with him, and then cried about it when he left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I was gonna miss him.” His skin started crawling with some unnameable thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but you...you choose these guys who are going to end up leaving you. Tim, for one. He was going to grad school in California, and you decided to try it with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were friends with benefits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t think it could have been more if he had stayed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg coughed. “It’s complicated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get that. All this shit is complicated. And yet, it was the three of us there that night when we were high off our rocks, and when Damien said he’d walk you home, you chose to stay at my place. All of us were horny, and you know that if you’d gone with Damien you’d have done more with him. There were only two options and you went with the option you couldn’t possibly fall in love with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That...is a really unfair thing to say.” His gut roiled with a smouldering anger. “You didn’t exactly push me away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, because I wanted you. But you’re gay, and I’m a woman. I was your safe option that night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you would reduce everything to that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t regret it. Don’t get mad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What you’re doing is pretty bitchy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying to point out to you that you always pick the shitty option - someone who will either end up leaving, someone you can’t love, or someone who can’t love you in the way you want them to. And I gotta ask - why is that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg was silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did spend a long, long time with Jack, and that was the most confusing part of all. But, I don’t think you loved Jack as much as you thought you did, and I think you think you deserved his bullshit for some reason. Like, somehow you deserve these men who can’t be there for you. Jack couldn’t love you. I’m pretty sure he’s a psychopath.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s what Mycroft said.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “But he kept you going. He strung you along with his jealousies and his insecurities, and his neediness, but he also isolated you from your friends and didn’t treat you as well as you deserve. And you let it happen. The break up was probably the best thing that could have happened to you, but you didn’t even try to get back into the dating pool. You didn’t even dip a toe in. You keep acting like it’s because you’re afraid, and maybe some part of you truly is, and in the meantime you complain to me and Molly about how lonely you are. But I’m beginning to think that some part of you thinks you deserve to be lonely. And now here comes Mycroft, someone who can’t stay for you. And you’re falling head over heels for him, and we’re all worried for you, and I can’t watch you do this to yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The slow roil of anger in his belly blew to full boil until the words erupted from his mouth like hot lava. “Fuck you,” he said. “Fuck you, Jordana.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hung up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri’s music drifted through her door, so he was sure she hadn’t heard. He needed to cool off before she spotted him. He jabbed a text into his phone and headed out the door to the mews. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gone to fly Artemis. At the field.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A little time flying the hawk in the sky would set him right again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kk</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jo’s words seeped through his mind: </span>
  <em>
    <span>like somehow you deserve these men who can’t be there for you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Easy for her to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You always pick the shitty option.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why is that?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Why is that? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's not something he's ready to look too closely at.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” said Molly as Greg had Tiny step up to his glove. “You’ve seemed a little off, lately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Greg said. “What did Jo tell you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly frowned. “I...fine, she said you two  had a fight. But, she didn’t tell me about what. And you don’t have to tell me about it, either. Just know that I’m here to talk if you need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good, thanks. I think the two of you have talked about me plenty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly stepped back as if she had been hit. “Oh. Okay.” She left the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg sighed. He looked at Tiny, whose imperious, owly glare reminded him a bit of Mycroft. “Yeah, I know. I’m fucking it all up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tiny's glare remain unchanged.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Camouflage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is it! We're officially halfway through the story! I have edited all 50 chapters, and unless my betas say to me "You need to write a new chapter saying this," we're there! Halfway!</p><p>Thank you so much for reading to this point. I can say, for sure, that there are some rocky times ahead for Greg and Mycroft, but there's also a lot of growth. I really hope you enjoy it, even if you find yourself shaking your fists at the characters at times. I think, by the end, you will be proud of both of them.</p><p>On another note, there are mentions of racism in this chapter, and subtle homophobia, with complicated family dynamics.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Camouflage is one of the most fascinating aspects of nature. Gray tree frogs can blend in with the gray bark of New England trees, but can also turn a light green to blend in with moss and leaves. Eastern box turtles can blend in so well, they appear as rocks in the leaf litter, or the leaf litter itself. Insects can get even more interesting - moths and larvae who appear as bird poop on a leaf, or look as though they have large eyes watching everything! Stick insects look like...well, sticks! The variety in camouflage among animals is amazing! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Humans have their own camouflage - in social situations. The person at the table that looks around and goes, "How did I get to be part of this family?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sometimes you have to camouflage for years just to survive.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sometimes, it gets in your head, where you think you are one of them, or you want to be one of them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But you aren't. And it takes time to realize - you weren't that stick insect after all. You were a pink moth all along, and you fit in best among the nectar and the blooms. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Have fun on the cruise, kiddo,” Greg said as he took the exit to leave I-95. </p><p>“Dad.” Peri’s annoyance was clear through the car speakers.</p><p>“Sorry. Peri,” Greg said, easing his foot onto the brake.  </p><p>“Well, you have fun at grandma’s.” Peri’s tone belied her belief Greg would have any fun. In all honesty, he was glad that Peri had the excuse of the family cruise to miss this birthday. He’d make sure she went to the big 6-5. Sixty-four didn’t need her presence, and he’d promised his mother that Peri would make it for Christmas. Not that she had asked.</p><p>“Thanks,” he said, though it was laced with sarcasm. Peri giggled as she hung up. </p><p>He was on the last leg of a six hour trip to his mother’s. A necessary evil. His reward: Mycroft would meet him in Bar Harbor on Saturday afternoon. </p><p>The thought made him smile. Jo’s words weren’t going to overshadow the time he spent with Mycroft, he’d make sure of it. She and Peri were headed to the city to board their cruise ship. Jo couldn’t have been happier that Peri was missing the summer trip to Grandma’s, since Peri always came back from previous trips bad-tempered and sulky. Resentful. </p><p>When he dropped Peri off with her after their fight, he apologized for swearing at her. She ducked her head and apologized for her part, but their goodbye had been awkward. Luckily, neither Marcus nor Peri were present to see it.</p><p>The drive was long, but parts of it were scenic. He hoped they might see moose while up in Maine. Not likely on Mount Desert Island where Acadia lay, but maybe if they managed to make it inland somewhere. </p><p>The landscape went from mid-green leafy deciduous trees to banks of dark green pines that towered along the roadsides. Soon enough, he hit Prospect, Maine, and passed the old Fire House, and then Colleen’s Place, the local pizzeria. </p><p>Growing up in the tiny town, everyone knew everyone. Greg was pretty sure he was the only gay kid in his school. His brother opened up a garage next door in Frankfort, but still lived in Prospect with his kids Nate and Evie. When he and Dan got in trouble as kids themselves, their mother always knew by the time they got home. The brothers had been thick as thieves, but then Greg came out, and Dan got quiet. Not...forbidding, or anything like that. But he started hanging out with his friends a lot more and going on dates with girls and barely spoke to Greg anymore. </p><p>Greg was relieved to escape the town. Going back was always an uncertain mix of sharp regret and bittersweet nostalgia. </p><p>His mother lived by the Carley Brook on Muskrat Farm Road. Greg had spent a lot of time wandering the wild spaces, going fishing, and taking floatables out on the various creeks and tributaries. When he was older, he’d gone white water rafting a number of times on the Penobscot River, but taking an inflatable mattress and riding it down one part of the creek had been a grand time with he, Dan, and their friends. </p><p>Dan’s friends, really.</p><p>Greg had followed him everywhere until Dan had started going on dates.</p><p>The road was just as pretty as he remembered it. A mix of trees and fields - farmland and woodland side by side. </p><p>When he saw the white building of his mother’s house, his stomach twinged. The giant maple in the front was heavy with leaves and shadowed the porch that needed fixing - it listed to one side. The house itself could use a new coat of paint, and Greg could see green moss growing on one part of the roof. The yard was mowed, at least, and some flowers were planted in the front bed. </p><p>He parked in the gravel driveway, got out, grabbed his things and faced the house. His mother, Brigitte Lestrade, stood in the doorway. She had dark, curly hair shot through with gray. Thin-framed glasses hung from a loop around her neck. Her t-shirt was a cheap print with the name of Dan’s garage on it, and her jean shorts looked as if they'd been cut from long pants. White tennis shoes with no socks in sight. </p><p>“How was the drive?” she said as he stepped onto the porch.</p><p>“Pleasant,” he said. He leaned down to let her kiss his cheek and followed her inside.</p><p>“Your bed’s been made,” she said.</p><p>“Thank you.” </p><p>A black poodle with a grey muzzle came jumping on his legs.</p><p>“Pepper, get down!” his mother said sharply.</p><p>The dog looked from her to Greg and wagged her tail. Greg bent down and pet her head. “Good dog, Pepper.” Her pink tongue lolled out and her stubby tail wagged furiously.</p><p>“Don’t spoil her,” Brigitte said.</p><p>Greg straightened. “I’ll put my things away.”</p><p>“Dinner’s in one hour.”</p><p>“Thank you.” </p><p>Closing the door behind him was a relief. His old bedroom had been made into a guest room. Pink curtains adorned the windows, and the bedspread was covered in white lace. Roses and ferns patterned the wallpaper, and the furniture was likely antique and heavy, made with dark wood and smelling of the glued paper that lined the drawers.</p><p>A mauve pink braided rug sat next to the bed, atop the thick blue wall to wall carpeting. </p><p>He put his bags on the bed. <em> It’s only one night. </em> The birthday party was a luncheon. Then he’d drive over to Acadia.</p><p>He hung his shirt and pants for the party in the closet. His toiletries bag went on the dresser. Everything else stayed in his duffel bag.</p><p>He stopped to take some yogic breaths, calming himself before heading out.</p><p>“Anyone else coming for dinner?” he asked when he found his mother watching Fox News in the living room.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Okay, then.” He sat on the couch. Pepper sat at his feet, gazing at him with an expectant expression.</p><p>“She’s not allowed on the furniture.”</p><p>“I remember, mom.”</p><p>Greg tried to ignore the thick-browed newscaster with overly polished hair. He glanced at his mother. She seemed a little on the thin side, but her eyes were sharp and her mouth a thin line. She held herself with her usual rigidity in posture. </p><p>“How’s the library?”</p><p>“Fine. How’s the nature center?”</p><p>“Dandy.”</p><p>“Good,” she sighed. “I’ll go check on the roast. You still a vegetarian?”</p><p>Greg tried not to exhale in frustration. “Yes.”</p><p>“Well, I made a salad, too.”</p><p>“Great. That’ll be fine. Thanks.”</p><p>She stood and left the room, Pepper trailing after her.</p><p>Greg rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and collapsed against the back of the couch. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg almost wished she was as tight-lipped as she had been the night before, after a morning of blathering on about the latest library events and her knitting circle. It was like this every time, where she would spew forth her latest doings, the things that put a bee in her bonnet or the wind in her sails. </p><p>It got tiring, but he’d learned to just sit back and let her speed along.</p><p>“Now, will you be staying a second night? And if you do, are you coming to church?”</p><p>“I told you I could only stay the one night, mom.” His back ached from the old bed he’d slept on, and a crick lingered in his neck from the flat pillow. </p><p>“Hm,” Brigitte said as she sipped her orange juice. “For the better, I suppose.” She grabbed her newspaper and brought it in front of her face.</p><p>Greg exhaled, feeling the weight of her disappointment. The twice-yearly visits were about as much as he could withstand. Considering their near weekly phone calls were just updates on the town gossip and the goings-on of his brother, there wasn’t much to entice him back here.</p><p>“So, who’s coming today?”</p><p>“Dan, Nicole, the grandkids, and Mary from the library, and Sandy and Liz from church.” She lowered her paper but avoided looking at Greg. “Nicole has set it up at Dan’s. She’ll make a nice daughter-in-law.” </p><p>Greg restrained from cringing. The unsaid part was that he’d never bring home a daughter-in-law. They hadn’t spoken directly about his sexuality since Jo’s pregnancy. Jack was a non-entity in this house, and in a way, that was for the best now. But Jo? Greg had informed his mother that they were under no circumstance getting married, and that he was, in fact, still gay. She accepted it.</p><p>But the tough part? His suspicion was that if Jo was white, his mother wouldn’t have let it go so easily. </p><p>As far as he knew, Dan wasn’t yet engaged to Nicole. Greg expected that when Dan popped the question, Greg would be subjected to a new wave of uncomfortable conversations with his mother. </p><p>“Sounds great,” he said. “How come I didn’t meet her at Christmas?”</p><p>“She was with her family.”</p><p>The conversation didn’t go anywhere after that. Greg washed the breakfast dishes as he always did. He took Pepper for a walk while his mother showered and did her hair. </p><p>Brigitte insisted on driving them over to Dan’s. It left him feeling uneasy; he preferred the option of a getaway vehicle if he needed it. Not that he’d ever left a family event early, but he liked to imagine it. Throwing down his napkin, telling them off, marching out the door, and driving off into the Maine wilderness, leaving behind decades of taut emotion and toxic patterns. </p><p>Dan’s was a five minute drive, and neither of them spoke. Greg’s heart lifted when he saw his nephew Nate on the front porch, sprawled across the porch swing. With his floppy brown hair and dark eyes, he resembled the Lestrade men. Greg looked more like their absent dad, with blunt features and square teeth - he’d been a real looker by all accounts. Nate inherited Brigitte’s pointed nose and chin, just like Dan.</p><p>The eighteen year old flashed them a smile and got up. “Uncle Greg! Hi!”</p><p>Greg waved at his sunny, smiling nephew. “Nate, how’s the summer been?”</p><p>“Boring,” he said as he rolled his eyes, and stepped off the porch to grab Greg for a hug. “Glad you made it.” He then turned to his grandmother. There was no missing the warmth in her eyes and the gladdened smile on her face as she hugged her grandson. </p><p>“Is everyone inside?” she asked.</p><p>“I’ll tell them you’re here. None of your friends are here, yet, but Nicole’s been busy all morning. Dad’s in the garage. Evie’s in the kitchen. I got sent out here to look out for you.”</p><p>“Good boy,” she said and patted his shoulder. </p><p>Nate strolled ahead of them and opened the screen door. “They’re here!” he announced.</p><p>Greg followed his mother inside. </p><p>Evie came bouncing out of the kitchen. “Yay, Uncle Greg!”</p><p>“Hey, pipsqueak!” She threw her arms around him and squeezed him. When she let go, she gave him a cross look. With a snub nose and curly brown hair, she was near cherubic in features. The same dark eyes as all the Lestrades - with the exception of his mother, of course. </p><p>He never knew his father’s surname. </p><p>“I can’t believe Peri gets to go on a cruise. I’m so jealous,” Evie said.</p><p>“Me too,” Greg laughed. “If it weren’t for your grandmother’s birthday this weekend, I might have tried to worm my way into going.” </p><p>“So sorry to have ruined your fun,” his mother snapped. Greg ignored her and strolled through the two-story farmhouse, once again admiring the original floorboards and thick wooden beams. The scent of cake lured him into the kitchen. </p><p>“Hello Brigitte!” A woman was at the stand mixer, making what looked like frosting. Her blonde highlights shone in the overhead light. “Happy Birthday!” She hugged his mother and turned to face him with a bright smile. “You must be Greg! I’m Nicole!” She drew him into a hug, and a light, floral perfume reached his nose. With her flower-print dress and coiffed ‘do, the woman was all sunshine. “I’ve heard so much about you from the kids. You’re very popular.”</p><p>“Nicole, nice to meet you.” His stomach fluttered with the thought that he had heard next to nothing about her. </p><p>“I think your job is just fascinating. You really get to work with birds of prey?”</p><p>“Yep, I do,” he said, rocking back on the balls of his feet.</p><p>“So cool.” She settled her hands on her hips. “Well, Dan’s out in the garage if you want to say hello.” </p><p>“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” Feeling dismissed, he went out the side door of the kitchen and headed to the garage. The voices of the women talking behind him faded.</p><p>Greg entered the cool dark of the two-car garage. The cloying smell of car oil and exhaust clung to his nose. From what he could remember, it held Dan’s everyday car, and one old car that he tinkered with. This time, he was surprised to see his brother working on a motorcycle that sat between the cars.</p><p>“When’d you get that?” he asked.</p><p>Dan Lestrade, wearing his ballcap backwards and mechanic overalls, paused in his concentration. “Oh, few months back. Thought I’d take it up again.”</p><p>“Again?” Greg asked.</p><p>“Yeah. Used to do it every summer when I was in my twenties.” He squinted at Greg. “You don’t remember?”</p><p>“Guess I wasn’t really around then,” he said awkwardly.</p><p>“No. Guess not.” Dan started putting tools back in his toolbox with loud, metallic clangs.</p><p>“Well. I met Nicole. She seems nice.” Greg wondered if he should say something about Mycroft, but what was the point? <em> He’ll be gone in a month’s time. </em></p><p>“Yeah. She is.” He wiped his hands with a rag. “We’re getting married.”</p><p>Greg paused, overcome with the sensation of his stomach dropping. “You are?”</p><p>“Yeah. Didn’t mom tell you?”</p><p>“No. And that does seem like a big deal. Something that one of you should have told me.”</p><p>Dan peered at him, eyes blue like his mother’s. Stubble grew over his chin. “Didn’t think you’d care that much. You’ll get the invitation in the mail.”</p><p>Greg’s mouth dropped. “Okay, then. Thank you, I guess.”</p><p>Dan looked around the space as if he was missing something. “I’ll be done in a few. I gotta clean up.” </p><p>“Right. See you inside.” Greg backpedaled out of the garage. On the way back to the kitchen door, he paused in the sunlight, drew in a breath, and set his shoulders back.  </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“<em> Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear- </em></p><p>
  <em> -mom- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -grandma- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -Brigitte- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Happy Birthday to you!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Cheers resounded as Greg watched his mother blow out her candles. Nicole hopped up and began removing the candles, which Nate and Evie snatched to lick off the frosting. </p><p>“What do you do down in Connecticut?” One of the church ladies was sitting next to him. Sandy was her name. She wore a blonde bob and a brightly colored flowery blouse that was difficult to look at. </p><p>“I’m a naturalist and a falconer.”</p><p>“Oh yes, I think Brigitte mentioned that. Birds, right?”</p><p>“They’re my specialty, but I do a lot of different science and nature-based programming for kids and adults.”</p><p>“How delightful.” Plates of dessert were passed around.</p><p>Brigitte had taken over slicing cake and putting it on plates while Dan scooped out ice cream. Nicole sat down across from Greg. This time, he noticed the sparkling of her engagement ring.</p><p>“I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you, Nicole,” he said. “So, congrats. And welcome to the family.”</p><p>“Awww, thanks, Greg!” Nicole twinkled at him. “I hope you’ll make it up here for the wedding. It’ll be next June.” </p><p><em> Great. Two weddings next June. </em> He kept his smile on his face. “Wouldn’t miss it.”</p><p>“And what about yourself? Have you got a girlfriend?”</p><p>Greg’s world <em> tilted</em>. Dan paused in scooping the ice cream. Brigitte looked up from the cake.</p><p>A look of confusion passed over Nicole’s face, as her smile started to slip. Nate and Evie stopped what they were doing and looked at Greg. The two women on the end of the picnic table - Mary and Liz, noticed the quiet and halted their conversation, concerned faces on the rest of them.</p><p>“Uh,” Greg’s cheeks colored. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” <em> They didn’t tell her. </em> His stomach twisted and turned with a feeling of shame, but it wasn’t his. It didn’t belong to him - he was <em> fine with who he was. </em> He turned his gaze to Dan and his mother. “I’m gay.”</p><p>Dan continued scooping ice cream with his head down while his mother went back to the cake. Her mouth formed a scowl. </p><p>“I’m sorry, what?” Nicole asked. Then her face screwed into a look of anger and embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. No one told me that.” She directed her glare toward Dan.</p><p>Sandy turned her shoulder slightly to him, and faced the two women at the end of the table, who all seemed to be trying to ignore the situation. Greg looked at Dan. “Seems like someone ought to have mentioned it at some point.”</p><p>Dan leveled his gaze at him. “Do you go around telling people that I’m straight?”</p><p>Greg’s mouth dropped for the second time that day. </p><p>“<em>Dan</em>,” Nicole uttered. She turned her face back to Greg and smiled. “I am sorry, Greg. I shouldn’t have assumed. Do you have a boyfriend?”</p><p>Greg faltered. If he admitted to seeing someone casually, it would just be reinforcing gay stereotypes - ones his mother once loved to crow about. But Mycroft wasn’t his boyfriend. “I am seeing someone,” he said.</p><p>“Oh, how nice.” She smiled, and her interest seemed genuine. “What does he do?”</p><p>“He works in government.”</p><p>His mother let out a scoff. “A politician, Greg?”</p><p>“No, mom,” he said through gritted teeth. “Public service.”</p><p>“Hm,” she replied and sat down with her plate of dessert.</p><p>Sandy turned to him. “You know, my sister’s son is gay. Such a nice young man. You wouldn’t know it if you met him. He’s very masculine.”</p><p>Greg stopped himself from snapping at her. </p><p>He needed to change the subject so he faced Evie and Nate. “Peregrine said she’d miss seeing you guys.”</p><p>Evie brightened. “I know. She texted us.”</p><p>“Yeah, we text all the time now,” Nate said without looking up from his cake. </p><p>Nicole looked from him to the two teens and back. “I’d love to meet your daughter sometime.”</p><p>“You have a daughter? Is she adopted?” Sandy asked.</p><p>Greg’s stomach swooped. He looked at Sandy - Sandy, who was his mother’s friend, a close enough friend to be invited to a small gathering for his mother’s birthday. His mother’s friend, who apparently knew nothing about his daughter. Her granddaughter. “My mom hasn’t told you about Peregrine?”</p><p>He could feel his mother’s sharp gaze upon him, but he kept looking at Sandy.</p><p>“I’m sure I’ve mentioned that I have three grandchildren,” his mother said in a haughty tone.</p><p>“Peregrine, as I understand it, is very bright,” Nicole said. Her eyes seemed a little wide, and flickered between Greg and Brigitte. </p><p>Mary, from the end of the table, jumped in. “Oh, yes, Brigitte, I’m sure you’ve mentioned her. It’s just that we’ve all met Nate and Evie. Peregrine doesn’t get a chance to visit often, does she?”</p><p>Greg’s hackles raised as he pushed his plate of cake away. “No, she doesn’t.” <em> She doesn’t feel welcome. She hates it here. </em>Except for her cousins.</p><p>Mary smiled as if in understanding. Her face was round and pale like a moon, and her glasses took up half of it. “Well, I hope we all get to meet her the next time she’s up.”</p><p>“Right,” he said. Then cleared his throat. “Perhaps we’ll come by the library.”</p><p>“It might be more useful if she goes to church,” his mother said. </p><p>Greg glared at her. “Peregrine prefers places of free thought.”</p><p>She met his glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>
  <em> It’s her birthday. Don’t start. </em>
</p><p>“Nothing,” he muttered. He heard Dan scoff and could see out of the corner of his eye as Dan shook his head.</p><p>Liz, the other woman on the end, made a noise with her throat, and then said, “Oh, Brigitte, I think we’re starting a committee on the idea of a community garden at the church. Are you interested in joining?”</p><p>The conversation passed over Greg like a fog. He was stuck in his head, trying to quell the anger and the panic in his gut. He got up from the table and walked inside the house. He went to the bathroom, closed the toilet lid, and sat down.</p><p><em> Am I right to be upset? </em> Of course he didn’t go around telling people his brother was straight. That was the assumed sexual orientation! </p><p>But that wasn’t as upsetting as his mother neglecting to mention Peregrine to her friends. </p><p>Did his family not talk about him at all? Is that why sexual identity never came up between his brother and his <em> fiancee </em>? Is that why his mother didn’t talk about Peregrine?</p><p>Did he embarrass them?</p><p>They’d said they accepted his sexuality, even if they didn’t seem happy with it. The distance between him and his mother had started before he came out. And Dan...Jesus Christ they had been so tight as kids.</p><p>“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay. Just go out there, keep a smile on, and in a couple hours, you’ll be on your way to Acadia, and none of this will matter.”</p><p>He got up and opened the door.</p><p>As he went to the kitchen, he saw Dan at the trash, scraping plates. </p><p>Dan looked at him, and the only thing Greg could see in his eyes was contempt. </p><p>“What is your problem?” Greg blurted.</p><p>“My problem? I don’t have one. You’re the one that’s all sensitive about the fact that I didn’t go around announcing you’re gay.”</p><p>“To your fiancee though? Nate and Evie know, so wouldn’t she? I mean, do you all never talk about me at all?”</p><p>“Why would we? You’re the one who left us, not the other way around.”</p><p>Greg clenched his teeth. “I left because there was nothing for me here in this town.”</p><p>“What, because there’s no Gay-Straight Alliance?”</p><p>“You and mom had a problem with me!”</p><p>“You just assumed we did!”</p><p>“You barely talked to me after I came out!”</p><p>“What was I going to do? I wanted to talk about girls!”</p><p>“I could have talked about girls with you! I’ve had straight friends! Attraction pretty much works the same, it’s just that I happen to like cock!”</p><p>Dan glowered. “Greg, you’re making out like I’m some kind of homophobe, when as far as I could tell back then, you were a heterophobe.”</p><p>“A <em> what? </em>”</p><p>“You heard me.”</p><p>“There’s no such thing!”</p><p>“Whatever. I tried to talk to you about my wife, and you could barely answer a phone call.”</p><p>“Oh my god, Dan, that was years ago! And I had just moved to Connecticut, and I was young and stupid and didn’t call home as much as I should have - like every college kid that moves out!”</p><p>“Right, like you didn’t think you were better than your redneck relations up in the backwoods of Maine. Anyway, that’s not what I’m talking about.”</p><p>“Then what are you talking about?”</p><p>“When Colleen died, you asshole!” Dan shouted. “You came to the funeral, and that was well and good. But you didn’t call, and when we did get on the phone, you never asked how I was doing. When Colleen got cancer, you didn’t even call to check on her, or me! You’re such a self-centered little shit, you didn’t give one damn about what I was going through!”</p><p>Greg wavered a little where he stood. “You...you barely spoke to me by the time she got cancer. And I talked to mom about it every time I called -”</p><p>“She wasn’t mom’s wife,” Dan said, his voice hoarse. “Why should I expect you to care? You didn’t ask me about myself back then, and anytime now, I talk about Nate or Evie, you just judge me for how I am as a parent! You got your kid going to a fancy school, and she’s gifted and all that, but my kids? They’re growing up in the same school system you did, and you couldn’t wait to get out of it, could you? Because you looked down on it, just like you look down on this town, and just like you look down on us!”</p><p>Greg’s chest heaved with pain. “Why are you telling me this now? Why not bring it up earlier, like, <em> years </em> ago.”</p><p>“Because I didn’t think you cared. But now you got the nerve to act like I did you wrong by getting engaged and not telling you about it, and because mom and I don’t sit around talking about you being gay? Because we don’t advertise it to others? News flash: we don’t actually <em> care </em>.”</p><p>“Right. Because you don’t actually care about <em> me </em>.”</p><p>“Oh, come off it! So you look like dad, and that upsets mom sometimes. She’s entitled; she’s human! And then you went off and left, just like he did. You’ve followed in his footsteps pretty closely, little bro.”</p><p>A slurry of feelings mixed tight in his chest. He stepped back. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t blame a <em> child </em> for looking like one of their parents! She treated me like a pest, and the two of you were peas in a pod! No wonder you defend her! </p><p>“And don’t worry, I love my niece and nephew - they’re lovely people despite the podunk school. They’ll make their own way; I trust that. But at least they’re acknowledged by her! Peregrine doesn’t look anything like our father, but mom never asks about her, and barely mentions her to any of her friends! I’ll bet Nicole knows next to nothing about her, too! How much have you said about Peri? I’ll bet anything she knows about her came from your kids!”</p><p>Dan slammed his hand on the table. “How much have you told your boyfriend about your niece and nephew?”</p><p>Greg opened his mouth to reply, but realized he’d barely told Mycroft anything about his niece and nephew. He loved them to bits, and wished he could see them more often, but most of their contact was two visits a year and several skype calls and a flurry of texts around holidays. </p><p>“Yeah,” Dan said. “Thought so.” He strode out the screen door of the kitchen, letting the door shut with a bang behind him.</p><p>Greg sagged against the wall. Where could he go? Outside? More than likely the group outside had heard all that. The door was open with the screen door shut and a window was open. He retreated into the cool darkness of the hallway. </p><p>This. This was exactly why he should have brought his own car.</p><p>He waited about five minutes, collecting himself, practicing his breathing, clearing his mind...<em> thank the universe for yoga. </em> And to think he’d thought it was a kind of silly thing when Jo first proposed it.</p><p>When he went outside, Nicole gave him a sympathetic smile. He tried to smile back at her, but he failed. His mother was opening presents. He could see that his was already open - a lovely handmade shawl in her favorite colors, a pair of floral-patterned gardening gloves, and stainless steel tools. She ignored him as he sat down.</p><p>The rest of the visit was excruciating. He made quiet, polite conversation with his mother’s friends and Nicole. Dan didn’t say a word to him. Evie talked his ear off about Animal Crossing, and Nate asked him for pictures of him with the eagle. He told them how much he loved his walks with Tiny the owl. </p><p>Then it was finally time to go. He helped his mother pack her presents into the car. They got in, and strapped on their seatbelts. The radio played country music, and his mother rolled down her window and lit a cigarette.</p><p>“Since when do you smoke?” He couldn’t help asking her. </p><p>“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, now isn’t there?”</p><p>Greg couldn’t help but feel like he was in the wrong again. Was it him? Was this whole family distance thing all him?</p><p>But he didn’t imagine her quiet contempt for him when he was little.</p><p>Or did he?</p><p>“What is it really, mom? Is it because I look like dad?”</p><p>Brigitte Lestrade took a drag of her cigarette. “Your father left me for another woman.”</p><p>Greg bit the corner of his mouth. “Okay. I know how that feels. Jack cheated on me.”</p><p>She glanced at him. “Hm. Well, I don’t pretend to understand how you’re gay, but you are, and that’s not a bad thing, no matter what the church says.”</p><p>“Well, thanks for that.”</p><p>“But you always were a tough one. You never liked us and you never liked where we lived. You always talked of going away and seeing the world. But what have you seen, huh? The upper to lower part of New England?” She flicked her cigarette ash out the window. “All these big plans and big dreams. Like your dad. He didn’t get far, either.”</p><p>He ignored her jab. “I was just a kid. And I was a gay kid. There isn’t a lot of room for that in Prospect.”</p><p>“Well, I’d always known you’d leave. And I’d let you go without a fuss. I know I’m not much of a mother, but that much I could do.”</p><p>Greg stared at her - the profile with the pointed nose and chin. The soft crow’s feet at her eyes. The cigarette at her lips. The wiggling and worming of guilt sliding through his gut and his brain. His mother knew he’d leave, so she protected herself by distancing herself from him?</p><p><em> I...I don’t even… </em> He turned to the window to stare at the passing scenery, all the green a blur. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. A Gentle Landing on a Rocky Coast</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Scarring in trees can be caused by a number of things: animals, lightning, fire, a windstorm, and so on. The tissue that is injured never actually heals. Instead, the tree grows new bark over the site of injury, sealing it from potential fungi and bacteria that can weaken the tree and shorten its lifespan. Years later, if the tree falls or is cut down, you can see the injury site still, in striations or marks, right where the original disturbance happened. The tree compartmentalizes the area so that no decay can spread, but the injury remains until the tree itself dies and decomposes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Emotional injuries can be treated much the same: compartmentalized, until something opens the compartment up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Mount Desert Island rested on the rocky coast of Maine. Home to several villages, including the popular tourist town of Bar Harbor, half of the island was preserved by Acadia National Park. With expansive water views and sprawling tracts of pines, driving onto the island was like finding home every time Greg arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pulled into the gravel driveway of the AirBnB. It was a lovely cottage with a front porch and gorgeous, flowering gardens. Greg recognized many native species - joyful yellow-orange canada lily and sturdy purple agastache among them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft stood with a proud smile on the porch, at the top of the steps, hands in his pockets. He was every bit as lovely as the gardens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg smiled to see him, but as the spiraling thoughts and feelings dug their claws in, he bit his lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s smile faltered. “Greg, what is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg shook his head. “I just want to hold you for a good, long time. Is that all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft stepped down from the porch, nodding. “Yes. Let’s get your bags and go inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg opened the back door of his car, and they grabbed the bags. Mycroft placed his hand on the small of Greg’s back and guided him inside the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He led them to the master bedroom. It was beautifully furnished with mid-century modern furniture and a sumptuous, maroon-colored comforter. The windows faced the water of the Mount Desert Narrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sank onto the edge of the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft sat beside him, and drew him into his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg would have shoved into him, if he could; he’d wear his body like armor. Macabre thought, but if he could do it without hurting this glorious man, he would. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft stretched out on the bed, and Greg followed him. He lay his head on Mycroft’s chest, listening to the soft sound of his heartbeat. Mycroft’s fingers ran through his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just...I don’t know what to do. I think I know what’s up, and I thought I was the black sheep...and then I got my ass handed to me and I don’t even know where I went wrong or why exactly I was wrong, and how it’s all my fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft trailed his fingers over Greg’s shoulder. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg exhaled. “A lot of family drama. My brother’s getting married. I had no clue. No one thought to tell me. So, there I was meeting his fiancee for the first time. And just learning that they were engaged.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s hand paused. “I can see how that must be upsetting. Are you and your brother close?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no. But to not tell me about his getting married? That’s...that’s a lot to swallow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree. I hadn’t realized you were so...estranged.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think we were. We text sometimes, and we call and talk to each other. I call my mom just about every Sunday. I call Dan just to check in and see how he’s doing. Sometimes he calls me. We probably talk about once a month.” Greg covered his face with his hands. “God, Mycroft, I fucked up somehow. I really fucked up. But I don’t know how much of it is me, or how much is them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Family is very complicated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No kidding.” Greg could feel the tight ball in his solar plexus expanding, disintegrating, liquifying into a heated bout of tears. He closed his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What have I been running from all my life? Where am I going? </span>
  </em>
  <span>God, what he’d done to Dan. Dan, who lost his high school sweetheart after being married for ten years and having two kids with her. Peregrine was in preschool, but it wasn’t like Greg didn’t have a weekend where he could have visited, or just reached out on the damn phone. Was he really that self-absorbed?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg?” Mycroft prompted quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, Mycroft. I had no idea how self-centered I’ve been. Dan...Dan and Colleen dated in high school. In the last year of high school. I was a freshman then. And, then Dan got his mechanic’s license and Colleen went to the community college...and I liked her. I liked her a lot. But after they got engaged I left. I went back for the wedding, of course. It was in our backyard. Simple. And then Nate came along, and then later on, Evie. And it was during her pregnancy with Evie that she got diagnosed with cancer. She held on for a long time. But, she died. And...I guess...I’ve been a terrible brother. I really fucked up, My. And I had no idea that I fucked up so badly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should have done something. He was so quiet. He was like a shell of his old self, and now he had these two kids, but my mom rallied and practically raised those kids for him. Me? I called him every once in a while to shoot the breeze. But it was anything but breezy, y’know? We were shit at talking about anything, and I didn’t think he’d want to talk about her...I -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Greg sat up and wiped his tears off his face. “But wait. I didn’t ask him about how he was doing because mom told me not to. She specifically told me that I shouldn’t talk about her at all with him.” A slip of anger shot through him. Cowed almost instantly by a lack of certainty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held his head in his hands as Mycroft sat up and rubbed his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus. My head is spinning. Like, how can I tell him that? It’s always been the two of them against me. I think. At least, that’s what it felt like.” He threw his hands up and shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think now, and I don’t know what to feel about it. My mom gave me this whole speech about how I was such a different kid, and I was always looking to get out and away from them, and so she said she just basically sat back and let me go. Like, what am I supposed to say to that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It...seems...well, is that what you wanted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg sagged. “I - I wanted them to love me, I guess. To appreciate me for who I was, for who I am. I’m...I’ve always felt like an outsider. The black sheep in all ways. But I still care about them. Y’know? I still want them both to be happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft sighed and rubbed his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I get the feeling they don’t actually want me to be happy, or care. I mean, getting Jo pregnant was a fiasco, and they’ve never really welcomed Peri into their lives. It’s like...when we visit, we’re a chore. Something they have to do. But I guess I treat them the same way. Like they’re a chore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft kissed the side of his neck. It was warm, affectionate. Made him feel soft. Wanted. The pressing of Mycroft’s fingers as they threaded around muscles in his back were like heaven. “Greg...I’m unsure if my thoughts would be welcome at this point…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m interested to hear your thoughts, go for it,” Greg said with a half-hearted wave of one hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get the feeling that you differed from your family. Not in a bad way. You needed more in your life than they could give you. And perhaps this is a case of everyone has done their best, but it just wasn’t quite enough for all involved. At the end of the day, no one can ask for more than someone’s best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’m not sure I’ve done my best,” Greg said. “And, I don’t know what to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps we should go for a walk. I strolled about town earlier. It’s very pleasant. Lots of people, but the view of the harbor is splendid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Okay.” Greg sniffed and wiped his eyes again. “Sorry I lost it. Sorry to put this all on you. I know we’re supposed to be casual and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft slid from the bed and stood. “Yes. Do not concern yourself, Greg. We’re friends, aren’t we? I shall be here to lend an ear when you need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Greg said. “Ugh. I think I have a headache starting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Allow me to fetch you ibuprofen.” Mycroft went to his luggage and rummaged through until there was a rattle of the bottle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg gazed toward the window. “This place is really nice. I always wanted to stay along the water, but be close enough to downtown.” He looked at Mycroft as the man handed him two pills. “It’s perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am quite happy with it, myself.” Mycroft screwed the cap back on and placed it on the dresser. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg rubbed his face with his hands, one closed over the meds. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want this hanging over my head. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus Christ, I’ve totally made an idiot of myself. This man probably can’t wait to get back to England.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He could just picture Mycroft back in London, talking at some fancy dinner table of posh acquaintances about the American he shagged over the summer, and what a neurotic mess the guy was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve arrived with the water.” Mycroft was smiling as he proffered the glass. “Is it worse? Shall we skip the walk? I don’t wish to further injure you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg forced a smile and accepted the water. “No. I’m just...having a pity-party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that doesn’t sound like a productive use of time. So, let’s get going on that walk, shall we? Is there anything that might make you feel a little better? I seem to recall on the Cape that you had a certain weakness for ice cream. I’m fairly certain this town has more ice cream parlors per street than all of Cape Cod.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s heart uncurled from its little, dark ledge of sorrow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What was I thinking? He’s not my family. He actually wants to spend time with me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “That sounds perfect. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It won’t be much longer. So I’m here until it ends.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can cry later.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The day was bright and hot, but the breeze from the Narrows made it bearable. It wasn’t long before they found themselves among the crowds of people milling about the tourist town of Bar Harbor. Purple petunias and red geraniums decorated wooden flower boxes and concrete pots everywhere. In the wilder spaces the beach rose bloomed, while the first flowers of meadowsweet and goldenrod were just starting to bud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The town sat on a slope leading to the water. The two men stood on a green hill overlooking the harbor. A family played in the nearby fountain, the kids splashing one another with loud glee. Tourists strolled along the streets behind them, in and out of boutiques and restaurants. Before them, the wide expanse of water was punctuated with boats and lined with buildings selling tickets for boat tours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chain of small, hilly islands out in the water called to Greg - they were just begging to be climbed and explored. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wonder if Mycroft might agree to kayaking.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those are the Porcupine Islands,” he pointed them out to Mycroft. “There’s five of them. Bar Island, Sheep Porcupine, Burnt Porcupine, Long Porcupine, and Island Porcupine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those are unique names.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg chuckled. “Yeah. I don’t really remember how they got them. I’m sure if we took one of the boat tours, or a kayak tour, someone could tell us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we sign up for whale watching now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, let’s do it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ended up on an 8 am tour for whales and puffins on the following day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked uphill along Main Street. Boutiques sold kitsch items like wood-carved ducks and moose patterned scarves, jewelry in the shape of birds, and expensive dinnerware adorned with silver-scaled fish. The odors of cooking wafted outside restaurants. When they arrived at the first ice cream shop under the name of Chocolate Emporium, the sweet scent of fresh-baked waffle cones saturated the air. They went inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmm. I can never quite decide between fudge or ice cream when I walk into here.” Chocolate smells filled their nostrils as they stood in line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does that sign say ‘Lobster Ice Cream’?” Mycroft wrinkled his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha, you gotta try it at least once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked at him with incredulity. “I absolutely do not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not even a sample?” Greg grinned, his tongue curling with pleasure at the thought of teasing Mycroft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are here for you.” Mycroft’s eyes twinkled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You wouldn’t do it for me?” Greg put on his best puppy dog pout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crustaceans do not belong in sweetened dairy food, and that is final.” Though the corners of his lips lifted as he pretended to look away from Greg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg ended up with his favorite moose tracks while Mycroft declined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you at least have a bite?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I must,” Mycroft said with the feigned air of someone who was extremely put upon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg watched as the man's mouth closed around the side of the ice cream scoop, and then again as Mycroft’s tongue appeared to swipe his lips clean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. I could watch you lick things all day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s eyes glittered. “Shall we get on with our walk? I’d like to work up an appetite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For food...or for something else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think?” Mycroft’s eyes darkened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooooh. We shouldn’t flirt in public. I can’t be held responsible if I decide to jump your bones here and now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked around. “Well, it would be rather scandalous.” Then he winked. “And think of the children.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg barked a laugh. “Okay, well that was a boner killer, thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft chuckled. “Later, I’ll help you to resurrect it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll hold you to that promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked to the top of the hill which opened up on a grassy park with a gazebo, and found a bench just within reach of shade and sat down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dan’s fiancee didn’t know I’m gay,” Greg said as he watched families play in the grass. “I mean, it’s not like I expect it to be in his first description of me - ‘I have a brother, he’s gay.’ But don’t you think it would have come up at some point?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose. I must admit I don’t tell people about my brother’s sexual orientation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg had always pegged Sherlock as gay, but there was never any evidence to confirm or deny it. “Okay, but if you were going to marry someone? You don’t think it would have come up in a conversation while getting to know more about your family’s siblings?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In my family, I don’t think they talk about me. And I know it shouldn’t bother me, but it does. I...I mean, I don’t mean they should be talking about me being gay, but it seemed like it was a surprise to my mother’s friends, as well. And, my niece and nephew know because I talked about Jack back then… But I guess they never mentioned it to Nicole, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft put an arm on the back of the bench and Greg leaned into its warmth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mother...was not pleased when I came out. I had to be very discreet when it came to my relationships, or risk a family drama I had no wish to be a part of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s homophobic?” Mycroft rarely spoke of his family, except for some funny or adorable anecdotes about Sherlock as a child. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not as such. In her private life, she couldn’t care less about who was in who’s bed. It was being in the public eye that was her motivation, though. I had been groomed, as the son of a public figure, to go into politics. She was quite peeved when I joined the Civil Service.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She sounds like quite the matriarch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg didn’t miss Mycroft’s hand balling up. “Indeed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decided to redirect the conversation. “Well, my mom found out when she saw my porn. That was embarrassing enough. But then she said the church couldn’t dictate her conscience on gays, and that was that. But...it’s weird. Like, it’s this thing she pushes herself to accept, but then she has such bigoted viewpoints otherwise. I don’t get her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bigoted viewpoints otherwise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg blew air through his cheeks. “About people who are different. Different cultures, or subcultures. Different skin colors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s why it bothers me more when it comes to Peregrine. She dotes on the other two grandkids. And Nicole is like, thirty-two, and my mom mentioned something about new grandbabies. But she never asks about Peri, and when Peri visits, she’s hospitable to her, but not particularly...caring. And it drives me fucking crazy. My mom’s friends barely know about her!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s face pinched with distaste. “Is Peri aware of this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. She sees it when my mom talks with Nate and Evie. It’s fucked up. And I don’t know how to make it better for her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds frustrating. I am sorry you’ve had to deal with it.” Mycroft’s voice was soft, caring. Genuine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg eyed him. Mycroft was looking at him with concern clear in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The desperation in that thought caught in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, I’m in trouble.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg?” Mycroft asked. “Are you all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he choked out. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Let’s, um...let’s go see some more of the town. Want a moose ornament for Christmas? They seem like they have a lot of moose ornaments here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft laughed, and it was a beautiful sound to Greg’s ears. “Yes, I think there might be a surplus of moose ornaments here, and if not an ornament, then likely a candle, or a tote bag, or perhaps a full sized wood carving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure either of us can fit a full size wood carving in our car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what’s stopping you from purchasing one?” His eyes glinted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I give up so easily.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Then he let go and stood. “Shall we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg stood and smiled. “Let’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And side by side, shoulder to shoulder, they made their way through the crowds of downtown Bar Harbor, exclaiming over moose figurines in windows, stained glass art of loons, and stone carvings of owls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Greg knew himself to be in love.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. An Obscured Horizon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi all. This chapter involves a bout of seasickness. If you are super sensitive to scenes of people getting sick, please note that I have marked the scene with a "+" where it begins, and a "-" at where it ends. Skip it if you need to. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> As most people know, moths love light. Or, at least, they seem to.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Moths use light to navigate. In evolution, these largely nocturnal animals were guided by moon and starlight. What evolution couldn’t account for, however, was the proliferation of human-made lights in the last century. The moth’s eyes are attuned to light - and the artificial lights are especially stimulating, drawing the insects in. Many of them can overheat on the lights, or become someone’s next meal. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Imagine, your instincts tell you - this light is it, the light by which you live, the light by which you direct your life. And all along, it was the dingy halogen lamp hanging over a used car lot.  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Greg looked at Mycroft with concern. “Have you ever had issues with motion sickness?”</p><p>“No, never,” Mycroft said.</p><p>They were sitting on the bench of a whale watching ship. The captain of the ship had been talking for almost five minutes about the high winds, rough seas, and the long journey out to the feeding grounds.</p><p>The speakers continued with the captain’s voice. “<em> Normally we go 30 miles out, but due to climate change, the temperatures in the water have been driving fish further north. The whales are following the fish. This means we need to go 50 miles out and into Canadian waters, and we’re going to be traveling pretty quickly, folks, so if you have any issue with motion sickness, please get off the ship now. You will be refunded.” </em></p><p>Greg whistled. “Wow, I have never heard that on a whale watching trip, and I have been on a lot of them.”</p><p>“Hm.” Mycroft was looking out the window at the sunny harbor. The captain had already explained that the harbor was protected by a chain of islands, whereas the open ocean was beset by thick fog and strong winds. </p><p><em> When the fog obscures the horizon line, you are more likely to suffer from seasickness </em>, the captain had said.</p><p>Greg noticed no one around them got up. </p><p>“Well, I suppose at some point we can go outside if we get too queasy in here.”</p><p>“Mm.” </p><p>“Mycroft?”</p><p>Mycroft faced him. “Yes?”</p><p>“Are you okay?” Greg had noticed that Mycroft’s shoulders tended to tense up in crowds, and relaxed the moment they got anywhere private. “I’m sorry if this is all a lot for you.”</p><p>“Hm? Oh. It’s fine. I suppose I’ve always been an introvert at heart, but I am content to sit here with you and see whales.”</p><p>“And puffins,” Greg grinned.</p><p>“Definitely puffins.”</p><p>“Some of the cutest birds on the planet.”</p><p>“I once tried puffin in Iceland.”</p><p>“What?” Greg pulled back from him in horror.</p><p>“It was a bit like chicken.”</p><p>“I...I can’t believe you would eat something so cute and precious.”</p><p>“As winsome as they are, Greg, I must say the meal was delicious.”</p><p>“You’re a horrid man. I had no idea.”</p><p>Mycroft laughed at that. “Finally, you begin to see my more loathsome qualities.”</p><p>“Hm. It’s probably worth it for the sex,” Greg said as he waggled his eyebrows.</p><p>Mycroft blushed as he checked around them. “Children, present.”</p><p>“No one heard.” Greg looked around anyway. “And worth it for the pretty color on your cheeks.”</p><p>“You are a ridiculous man,” Mycroft said in a low voice.</p><p><em> A ridiculous man in love with you. </em> Greg tried to steady the beating of his heart through thought alone.</p><p>When the ship was finally on its way, the two men lapsed into silence, watching the scenery of blue-ocean water and pine-studded islands pass. Gulls, terns, and cormorants flew over the sea. As they pulled further from the harbor, the waves got rockier and fog shrouded the ship.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>+</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The first person to grab a sick bag was the mother in a family of five. She snatched it up from the pile provided on one of the tables by the crew, and headed out the sliding door onto the deck.</p><p>“Oof,” Greg said, and tried to turn his attention away. It was only another ten minutes when he began to feel a suggestion of queasiness in his stomach. In another few minutes, he could see that Mycroft was looking a bit green. </p><p>Two more people grabbed sick bags and ran out onto the deck.</p><p>“Uh, I think we should go out on the deck. The fresh air would probably do us some good.”</p><p>Mycroft nodded. They stood and headed out the door.</p><p>The wind was icy cold, even though they wore fleeces beneath their windbreakers, and long pants. Greg slid on his sunglasses, but his ears burned with the chill.</p><p>Mycroft headed for the bow of the ship. Several people stood there, most of them with Camelbaks hanging from their shoulders, and cameras with long-zoom lenses hanging from their necks. Everyone wore a stoic expression in the face of the wind.</p><p>Greg pressed against Mycroft’s shoulder as they hung onto the railing. It wasn’t long before a person ran past them and vomited over the side of the boat. A crewperson approached them with a sick bag.</p><p>“I’m beginning to think we made a terrible mistake,” Mycroft said into Greg’s ear.</p><p>“I’m inclined to agree with you.” Though the sick feeling in his stomach was beginning to abate. </p><p>His hands, however, were rigid with the windchill. He tucked them into his jacket. “Fuckin’ cold out here.”</p><p>Mycroft’s nose had turned red. “It’s amazing how the fog has entirely obliterated the horizon. I don’t see a single bird. Nothing. Just a grey haze.”</p><p>“Are you getting creepy on me?”</p><p>Mycroft smiled. “Shall we head in to warm up?”</p><p>“Yes, let’s.”</p><p>Inside the cabin was warmer, but it seemed almost every person held a sick bag. A crewperson was wiping up vomit from the floor, and someone’s child was crying. The pungent stench of emesis permeated the air. </p><p>“Oh god,” Mycroft said behind him. Greg turned just as Mycroft snatched a sick bag from a nearby table and retched into it.</p><p>“Oh,” Greg said in surprise, and placed a hand on Mycroft’s back. “I’ve got a water bottle in my backpack.” He unslung the bag from his shoulders.</p><p>Mycroft heaved. “I suppose we should have stayed outside.”</p><p>The next hour and a half was like that. It seemed no one was impervious to the ship’s motion, aside from the crew. People dashed about with sick bags, tried to hide their shame in corners, opened packets of Dramamine with shaking fingers. Mycroft tried to settle his stomach with simple crackers, but immediately ejected them from his stomach. They went outside until their queasiness subsided, and inside to get warm. Mycroft was puking both inside and outside, so fresh air had no effect in the long run. </p><p>But for Greg, it saved him from the same fate.</p><p>Most of the passengers were pale and miserable by the time the ship slowed at the feeding grounds. Crew were still passing out the sick bags, and leaving piles of them on tables. They even followed people out to the railings with cloths and disinfectant, wiping the metal railings clean of any flyback sick. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“This is the worst trip I have ever been on, and I have traveled to many places,” Mycroft said wearily.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Greg said.</p><p>“Not your fault. It’s the circumstances of the day. Normally I would have an assistant who checks for things like this - she probably could have taken the ocean weather into account for our comfort or lack thereof. Clearly, I should value her more.”</p><p>Greg smiled. “I guess we should have taken the captain seriously. Well, we’ve stopped now. Let’s head out and see if after all this, we can see a whale.”</p><p>They didn’t.</p><p>The boat moved from one spot to another for about thirty minutes - waiting for five minutes at each spot. </p><p>Not a single. Whale.</p><p>The fog was thick and the passengers were grey-faced. The sense of illness was gone, but replaced with a heavy disappointment.</p><p>Eventually, the ship’s captain decided to head elsewhere. </p><p>Of course, it wasn’t long before the nausea returned once the boat resumed course. </p><p>Eventually, the fog lifted, and the sun peeked out.</p><p>“Oh, for fuck’s sake, it’s the horizon. I can see the horizon!” </p><p>Mycroft groaned, his forehead pressed to Greg’s shoulder. “Please kill me.”</p><p>“Awww, c’mon you drama queen.”</p><p>“Don’t remind me that I should have taken Dramamine.”</p><p>Greg chuckled and wrapped an arm around Mycroft’s shoulders. “C’mon, apparently there's some marine life over at those rocks.”</p><p>The rocks were gunmetal grey and dotted with bright green seaweed. With use of the binoculars, Greg grinned when he saw something black, white, and orange bobbing on the water. “Guess what?”</p><p>“Mm?” Mycroft peered at the island with a pinched face.</p><p>“Puffins.” He passed Mycroft the binoculars, and watched, when Mycroft raised them to his eyes, as a smile formed on his lips.</p><p>“Will we move closer?” he asked.</p><p>Greg said, “It seems like they’re moving the boat closer.”</p><p>Mycroft’s smile grew wider. “I’m counting seven. And on the rocks behind them are Great skuas.”</p><p>Sure enough, as the boat neared, Greg could see the brown predatory bird with a white streak in the wing. </p><p>“In Britain, we sometimes call them bonxies.”</p><p>Bonxies. “That’s a fun word.” The more Britishisms he learned, the more he thought he could love England.</p><p>The captain announced a seal sighting. Mycroft moved the binoculars, then passed them to Greg.</p><p>Three harbor seals sunned themselves along the rocks. Just past the rocks, a flock of puffins appeared.</p><p>“More puffins!” he announced, excited like a child.</p><p>Mycroft slid an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him. “We’re close enough that I can see.” Then, “Puffins mate for life.”</p><p>Greg tried to school his expression. It sounded nice, of course. Sticking together through the seasons, raising families, being with someone familiar. </p><p>It lodged in his stomach with the sticky velcro feeling of want. </p><p>He searched around for something to say. “Puffins have serrations on the inside of the beak that hold the fish in place. They can hold ten or twelve at a time.”</p><p>He saw Mycroft nod from the corner of his eye.</p><p>“I hope they don’t move us from here. It’s pleasant, with the sun. And no movement.”</p><p>“Hate to tell you, love, but we have to get back to the harbor somehow, and I get the feeling it’s going to be with this boat.” His face burned as he realized what he’d called Mycroft, but he decided to pretend it was fine. Casual. Everyone called someone love, right? That they were just friends with, right?</p><p>Mycroft groaned. “I loathe to think of the journey home.”</p><p>“Then stay in the moment, you incredible man. ‘First you figure out what each one means by itself, the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop full of moonlight. Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story.’” He lowered his binoculars.</p><p>“‘Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it,’” Mycroft said. It was one of Greg’s favorite Mary Oliver poems.</p><p>“The best instructions I’ve ever heard on how to live a life,” Greg said.</p><p>Mycroft’s eyes stayed on the ocean. “You are a remarkable man.”</p><p>
  <em> This is more, right? He feels it, too. This is more than casual.  </em>
</p><p>The announcement for heading back to the harbor came. Both men groaned in unison.</p><p>“Well, let’s stick it out here until we lose the sun. Maybe it won’t be as foggy on the way back.”</p><p>“I pray that you’re right,” said Mycroft.</p><p>The ship did pause at other islands, and they were welcome stops. But eventually, they returned to the harbor, queasy and unsteady on their feet.</p><p>As they left the boat and walked down the ramp with other woozy passengers, Mycroft remarked, “I feel a deep and abiding sense of kinship with everyone aboard that voyage.”</p><p>Greg guffawed. “I need to mark this day. You found kinship in a crowd.”</p><p>Mycroft eyed him, but smiled. </p><p>Greg joked, “Want to get a t-shirt to commemorate the voyage?”</p><p>“If I get any t-shirt from this place it will be one that says ‘I Survived Whale Watching in Bar Harbor.’”</p><p>They laughed, and Greg linked his arm into Mycroft’s for a moment, then let go, still smiling. “I’m starving,” he said.</p><p>Mycroft spun to look at him in horror. “Greg Lestrade, I could not possibly even <em> look </em> at any item of food for the next three hours.”</p><p>“Then, it seems we are at an impasse.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>An hour had passed before Mycroft decided he could stomach a meal. After lunch, Greg pointed out the kayak tours. </p><p>“I overheard someone say that they saw an eagle nest on one of the kayak tours.”</p><p>“Mm. Bald eagle?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Their nests are gloriously large.”</p><p>“Yeah. Bet they saw lots of other cool birds, too.”</p><p>Mycroft smiled. “I’m all right if we don’t make this a birdwatching trip, Greg. We have each other’s company, and a lovely little town, plus a nearby National Park which we have yet to visit.”</p><p>Greg’s stomach flipped. <em> He wants to hang out with me.  </em></p><p>
  <em> Duh. Of course he does. </em>
</p><p>“Then let’s do that,” Greg said. “It’s what we planned anyway.” Personally, he was of two minds - kayaking was fun, but the whale watching trip had taken a lot out of him. “We could always visit Shepaug Dam to see eagles in Connecticut anyway.” He was glad he faced away from Mycroft when he said that.</p><p>The time to see eagles at Shepaug Dam was in February.</p><p>“Excellent.” </p><p>They went back to their cottage and got into Greg’s car. The drive to the main entrance took about ten minutes.</p><p>The whole time, a burgeoning softness grew in Greg’s chest. An acceptance. A coming to terms with the fact that he was in love with this man who would leave for England at the end of the summer. This man who was his for now. He was in love, and there was nothing he could do about it.</p><p>Even if Mycroft didn’t love him back.</p><p>It was what it was. And there was peace in that. </p><p>They drove along the loop of the park until they got to the popular attraction of Thunder Hole. Thunder Hole was a natural inlet of rocks surrounding a cavern. Waves rushed in, and at sporadic times of the day, create the sound of distant thunder, with a spray of water that can reach forty feet in the air. They parked the car on the side of the road and walked down to the staircase that led to the outcropping of rocks. The water pushed and sucked and lapped at the opening of the cavern. Not a single one of them performed the <em> boom </em>the place was known for. </p><p>“Well, I suppose after no whales on a whale-watching trip, we shouldn’t have expected to hear the thunder of Thunder Hole, either,” Mycroft said with an amused smile. Greg stood next to him, his elbows on the metal railing over the water. He smiled back. </p><p>
  <em> It’s so easy to love you. </em>
</p><p>The deck was crowded with tourists hoping that the natural phenomenon would sound that day. So Greg said, “Well, why don’t we go check out Cadillac Mountain?”</p><p>The road that led to the top of Cadillac Mountain was lined with aspens and steeplebush. The balding pinnacle comprised swaths of smooth pink feldspar, resembling the head of a turkey vulture in Greg’s eyes. The wind stunted the growth of many of the trees there - oak and cedar alike grew no more than a few feet tall. Shoots of yarrow and meadowsweet proliferated in the crevices. In all directions was a resplendent view of the different parts of Mount Desert Island. To the northeast lay the town of Bar Harbor.</p><p>They clambered over the croppings of rock, never further than a foot away from each other. The wind buffeted them, but it was cool and welcome in the bright, warm sun. At one point, they stood shoulder to shoulder to read one of the park signs. Greg glanced at his companion. The top three buttons of his shirt were open, as usual, just a tuft of ginger hair in sight. All of his hair shone autumn red in the sunlight. His skin was still beautifully pale, as he was meticulous in his skincare regimen, but his eyes, ever watchful, ever observant, were slate blue like the sea.</p><p>
  <em> I love you. </em>
</p><p>He could have said it then, atop a seaside mountain on a beautiful day. But Mycroft kept moving, wanting to see different parts of the island across the flat spaces of feldspar. He got caught up in their banter about being old men jumping across rocks like goats, and he enjoyed inhaling the fresh air and soaking up the sunlight. </p><p><em> I love you, </em> he thought as they headed back for their car. </p><p>It wouldn’t even matter if Mycroft couldn’t return it. Love was its own reward.</p><p>
  <em> Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it. </em>
</p><p>In private, then. But not on a car ride. </p><p>As they headed out of the park, Mycroft asked about the other villages on the island. So, they went to Seal Harbor where Greg read about a new store he wanted to check out.</p><p>“It’s called the Naturalist Notebook, so you know I need to see it.” </p><p>“Naturally.”</p><p>The storefront was decked in fake plants, nature-themed books, and colorful paper. Bookshelves and toys stuffed the narrow aisles. All of the walls, ceiling, and floor were painted or decorated in such a way that a visitor would feel as if they were moving through different ecosystems. The store was part museum and part playspace, chock full of interactive games and exhibits. </p><p><em> Peregrine would have loved this. Once upon a time. </em> He frowned as he stood in one room about sound. A keyboard connected to a lights display lay on the table. She wasn’t his to take to places like this anymore.</p><p>“Are you thinking about your daughter?”</p><p>“It’s kind of frightening how you do that,” Greg said. “I was.”</p><p>“Well, this does seem like the sort of place a parent would like to take their child.”</p><p>“Did you ever want kids?”</p><p>Mycroft was staring at a bookshelf, chin in hand. “It’s likely Sherlock will never produce a child. I’ve considered adoption, but Mummy would frown upon it.”</p><p>
  <em> Mummy? </em>
</p><p>“There are titles and land to pass down.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, what?” Greg paused in pulling a book off of a shelf.</p><p>“Nothing so grand or glorious as you’re thinking. Simply that our family is descended from some wealthy squires. There’s a family seat just at the edge of London, and a cottage in the country. My parents travel quite often, but also keep their own flat in Kensington for entertaining. They use the family seat from time to time, and like to have grand summer parties at the cottage when the gardens are in full bloom.” Mycroft touched one of the keys on the keyboard, creating a dissonant note that lit up the lights display. “Anyway, it’s in the Holmes family, and Mummy would rather it stay in the Holmes family. If I don’t have a child, it could all go to some profligate cousin who will squander the inheritance. Mummy has been very smart to invest a good portion of the money, and create a foundation that helps those in need. I should like to continue that.”</p><p>“Oh,” said Greg, a little stunned. <em> Just how much money are we talking? </em></p><p>“And, I should like to see it continue after my death. So, I’ve had my assistant investigate some agencies offering surrogacy.”</p><p>“Wow.”</p><p>“Yes.” Mycroft glanced at him. </p><p>“So. You’ll be pretty busy back in London, raising a kid.” Greg pretended to be absorbed in leafing through the book he grabbed, the words blurring on the page. </p><p>Mycroft lifted one shoulder. “I have also had her looking at au pairs, preschools, and when the child is ready, he or she shall go to boarding school, just as I did. I expect I’ll be able to function quite well at work with the added support.”</p><p>Greg placed the book on the shelf and faced him. “What?”</p><p>Mycroft held his hands behind his back. “The au pair will be a person of very high quality. My assistant is very thorough in her investigation for supports in my private life. The child shall also benefit from the company of my staff.”</p><p>“Your staff?” </p><p>“Well, yes. I have a cook, a driver, and a housekeeper. A groundskeeper, too.” And he smiled, as if all of that was nothing. “I spent hours in my boyhood speaking with the help. It was an education of its own kind.”</p><p>“The help?” <em> Jesus Christ. Where to begin? </em></p><p>Mycroft quirked an eyebrow.</p><p>“Mycroft. That’s - that’s great that you have staff like that. I mean, I’m sure we all dream of having that kind of household. But...that’s not really parenting. When are you going to be a parent to the kid?”</p><p>Mycroft looked taken aback. “We shall have dinner together, and weekend outings, of course.”</p><p>“With the au pair.” <em>The au pair.</em></p><p>“I’m a very busy man, Greg, and my work is very important. I am very important to England. And this sabbatical, while partly enforced, shall certainly prove it to them.”</p><p>“But being a parent is important. Kids need their parents to be around. It’s how you build up their confidence, and their ability to connect with others. It’s how they’re formed as people.”</p><p>“I am aware of that,” Mycroft replied in an icy tone. “However, I am a product of the very same upbringing I describe. Are you saying I’m flawed?”</p><p>“We all have flaws, but that’s not what I mean.” Greg spread his hands. “Did you know you were loved? Did you really feel it?”</p><p>Mycroft’s face darkened. “I’m sure my mother loves me - that’s why she hired the best staff, and sent me to the best schools. She’s only wanted the best for me and my future.”</p><p>“The way you’ve described her to me before is as a socialite…” Greg glanced around to make sure no other customers were nearby.</p><p>“And? That makes her an unsuitable parent?”</p><p>“No. I just question someone who sends away her son because he’s an embarrassment to the family - or makes you hide the fact that you’re gay. It seems like she depends on the two of you to help make her look good, and is that really fair to either of you? Shouldn’t she be building you up for who you are?”</p><p>Mycroft stepped back, but there wasn’t much space. The two were enclosed, held, in a tiny space with a low ceiling and creaky floors.</p><p>“You think you can give this advice to me? After what you’ve told me about your mother?” Mycroft’s whispered retort was like a punch to the gut.</p><p>The narrow room they stood in didn't seem big enough. His mouth tightened. “Don’t you bring her up. This is about you. We can do me later.”</p><p>“My mother did her best.”</p><p>“Was it really good enough? You don’t miss a family dynamic where people love each other as they are, rather than berate each other into changing into something they can tolerate?”</p><p>Mycroft’s face looked thunderous. “I understand you and Jo have limited resources, but if you could have sent Peregrine to the best school, surrounded her with capable and intelligent people for company, you wouldn’t have done it?”</p><p>“Not if it meant not getting to spend time with her. She’s my daughter. I want to know her as she is, not build her up into some construct of what I want her to be while she’s away at some school.”</p><p>“How’s that working out for you, Greg? Do you know your daughter now?”</p><p>The air whooshed from Greg’s chest. The inside corners of his eyes tensed. “I think we can leave, now.”</p><p>Mycroft’s face fell. “Forgive me, Greg.”</p><p>“Let’s go.” His chest heaved with a sigh and he headed down the steps and out the door to the street.</p><p>Mycroft followed. They walked to the car in silence. Greg unlocked it, his fist tight around his keys.</p><p>“At one point, in my life,” Mycroft said once the doors were shut, “I thought I would have a family. A partner with two to three children.” He looked out the window. “It was taken from me. I haven’t considered it seriously since, not until I realized that Mummy and Daddy are getting up there in years, and that it’s about time I did. And...my work is very involved. But...it’s all very complicated.” He stared at the dashboard.</p><p>When turned to face Greg, his knuckles are white as they press into his thighs, making creases in his pants as he pulls the fabric between his fingers. “I’m not trying to create excuses. I’m trying to explain why I reacted the way I did. I was unfair to you. Obviously, you are a wonderful father, and Peri is going through an independent phase in her life. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. Especially when...what you said about me...was so close to the truth.” He faced the dashboard again, his tongue swiping over his upper lip. Greg didn’t miss the quaver in his voice when he said, “I wish my mother had loved me. Truly loved me, and not just what I could do for her as a prop in her life.”</p><p>For a second, Greg thought of Jo, and their argument. Her words hurt, because they were the truth. He exhaled, letting go some of his anger with her.</p><p>“What I said to you was inexcusable. It was a wounded animal, lashing out,” Mycroft said. “It isn’t easy...showing you my vulnerabilities. Even though you’ve shown me yours. I’m trying to be better.”</p><p>
  <em> He’s opening up. You’re mad, but he knows he did wrong. </em>
</p><p>Greg flexed his fist. Bit his lip. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have judged you like that. Obviously, different strokes for different folks.”</p><p>Mycroft huffed a small laugh. “I suppose. But arguably, perhaps, some strokes are better than others.”</p><p>“Maybe.” <em> Who was the guy who he thought he’d have a family with? </em> Now was probably not the time to go digging. Mycroft had just shared more than he ever had. His eyes flicked to Greg and back, and his hands still pressed into his thighs. And Greg couldn’t be sure, but a glimmer in Mycroft’s eyes suggested possible tears. </p><p>He placed his hand on Mycroft’s knee. “Friends, again?”</p><p>Mycroft huffed and smiled, placing his hand over Greg’s. “And all the benefits that it implies.”</p><p>Greg laughed. </p><p>
  <em> I still love him. </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>That night there was a shift in their sex. Greg would have called it lovemaking. Mycroft rocked into him gently from behind, held his shoulder with his teeth in a way that was proprietary but sensual, one arm propping him up, and the other around Greg’s waist. Greg keened below him. Mycroft let go of his shoulder and whispered to him. “Yeah, just like that. I wish to give you everything, I wish to make you feel incredible. Do you feel incredible?”</p><p>“Yes,” Greg whined. </p><p>“Good. Good. You’re taking me so well. You always do.”</p><p>Greg spread his thighs and arched his back, pushing back against Mycroft.</p><p>“Yes, that’s so good, you feel so good.”</p><p>“God, you feel good inside,” Greg whimpered. “Oh, ah-”</p><p>Mycroft kissed him along his shoulder. He pumped slowly, softly, until Greg started begging.</p><p>“God, Mycroft, harder, goddamnit, harder.”</p><p>At first, the man didn’t listen. He just hushed Greg and kissed him, framing him in his arms and tasting his skin, whispering sweet whispers that were just a touch dirty. Greg’s stomach spooled tight with tension, and his cock twitched against the sheets, leaving a noticeable wet spot.</p><p>“I’m milking you, aren’t I?” Mycroft said.</p><p>Greg whined.</p><p>“I love how wet you get when you’re needy. When you need me. I need you, too. You’re perfect, so perfect around my cock.”</p><p>Greg scrabbled at the sheets with his hands, his face twisted with a razor blade mix of pain and pleasure. His blood rushed through his body as the pleasure at the base of his spine expanded. He slid his hand between his body and the sheets and began jerking his cock. Using his precome as a lubricant, it wasn’t long before his orgasm soared and his vision whited out as he roared with his pleasure. </p><p>“Perfect, yes, just like that. You came for me, just like that,” Mycroft was saying in Greg’s ear as he came down from the height of his climax. </p><p>“God,” he said and pushed his face into the crook of his elbow. Mycroft’s thrusting into him bordered on too much, but he couldn’t stand the thought of separating from the man.</p><p>“I’m going to come in you, Greg. I’m going to make you mine, all mine.” Mycroft groaned, “You’re so perfect, so beautiful, so goddamn perfect-” He gave one last thrust with a groan, and his body writhed with aftershocks atop Greg’s back. Greg moaned beneath him, reveling in the sense of his weight. </p><p>“Mm.” Mycroft gently rolled off of him. Greg heard him remove and tie off the condom. “Getting to feel your orgasm while I was inside you was exquisite.”</p><p>
  <em> I love you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m gonna tell him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m just gonna do it. </em>
</p><p>Greg rolled over and watched as Mycroft threw the condom in the trash and then entered the ensuite to grab a towel. After clean up was done, and the two men were back in bed beneath a single sheet, Greg got on his side and slid his arm beneath the pillow. He watched Mycroft settle in. Neither of them got the light. </p><p>Mycroft’s eyes searched Greg’s.</p><p>
  <em> Okay. I’m gonna tell him. And I’ll let him know that I expect nothing in return. Just, he’s gotta know that someone in this world loves him, and loves him for who he is. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In the morning. Over breakfast. So he doesn’t think it’s just sex hormones. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Yeah. </em>
</p><p>Mycroft turned off the light and got back into the bed. They wrapped around one another, and it wasn’t long before Greg drifted off in a cloud of happy neurotransmitters. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Breakfast was leisurely. Poached eggs over toast, and a side of berries with yogurt. </p><p>The cars were packed with their belongings - but they lingered over breakfast. Greg didn’t want to say goodbye, even though they would travel en caravan back to Connecticut, and likely meet up at a rest stop. </p><p>Greg kept glancing at Mycroft, watching how the man chewed, how he licked the corner of his mouth, how his hands handled the silverware, how the line of his shoulder dipped into his pec, and then his mind wandered over the vulnerabilities they’d shared. He’d shared quite a bit of his, and Mycroft had been more reserved, guarded, but he was beginning to open up. They’d had their first ‘couple fight,’ it seemed, and they’d apologized. They were still close to one another - perhaps closer. The shift between them seemed akin to a settled and affectionate domesticity. </p><p>Mycroft caught some of his glances from time to time. He pretended not to see them, which was adorable to Greg. Until his face screwed into one of concern, and lifted to Greg’s.</p><p>
  <em> Oh, I’ve spooked him. It’s time to just say it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I love you.  </em>
</p><p>“Mycroft -”</p><p>“Greg, before you say anything, I have something I need to tell you.”</p><p>“What is it?” <em> Wouldn’t it be funny if it was the same thing I need to tell him? </em></p><p>Though<em> , </em>Mycroft looked worried. Which was rare for the man.</p><p>“It’s something I should have told you already.”</p><p>Greg’s stomach twisted. Mycroft’s eyes wouldn’t meet his. </p><p>“Out with it,” he said. </p><p>Mycroft licked his lips. “I...I should tell you about my husband.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In regards to the epigraph with moths and lights, it is super helpful to nocturnal creatures if you minimize outdoor lights at night as much as possible. &lt;3</p><p>And as for that last line, I promise it's not as bad as it sounds. All will be explained in the next chapter. (Please put down the pitchfork...X-D )</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Behavioral Traits</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I appreciate y'all for not sending assassins to my home with pitchforks. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>The eastern hognose snake has a small arsenal of protective traits that allow it to avoid predation. First, they camouflage. If discovered, they have a couple behaviors that can help: 1.) The hognose may try to intimidate a potential predator by acting like they’re a venomous snake - they might flatten their heads and appear as though they are a cobra. They can “rattle” their tail, where it will hit against something and make a sound very similar to a rattle. This, along with all the hissing and the posturing with their heads, may be enough to deter the perpetrator.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>2.) If that doesn’t work, the hognose will play dead: they turn onto their back, let their tongue loll, and exude a terrible stench that will remind one of decay. If you try to roll them back onto their bellies, they will roll back. Sometimes, they even trickle blood from their mouths.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s remarkable, but it’s self-preservation. And who wouldn’t do all they could to preserve not only their life, but their sense of self?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The floor dropped out from beneath him. At least, that’s how it felt. His fork fell onto his plate with a loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>clang.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, but Greg cut him off with a high-pitched bark of: “Excuse me? Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>husband?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He glanced at the ring on Mycroft’s hand. “You’re married? You said you weren’t married!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not; I’m widowed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hot mix of anger and shame flashed through him as his belly roiled. “I - I can’t believe you’re telling me this. I - I don’t even know what...” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, widowed?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I’m sorry he died? Of course I’m sorry he died - sorry. But why would you keep it from me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s eyes stayed on his breakfast plate. His shoulders rounded in as his left hand gripped his napkin. “It...it was long ago, and I had never expected to be involved with someone long enough that it would become pertinent to share. And...we’ve become close enough, that I feel comfortable enough to tell you. That I should tell you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Greg breathed out. Their tiny breakfast table seemed too tiny, the walls too close. “Okay. I think I can get that. But...when I asked if you were married -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I answered honestly. I have found it...to be more conducive to a pleasant conversation if I withhold the fact that I am a widower. Sharing leads to more personal questions, or untimely condolences. It is my preference to not give out that information.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can understand that, but we’re not exactly strangers, are we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not at all. It was never my intention to lie by omitting a truth such as I have.” Mycroft’s eyes slid over to Greg’s as if to measure Greg’s response. He looked away, his face an unhappy, flat line. “In the beginning, I had thought I misread your attraction to me, or that it was passing - merely some sort of fetish for foreigners with a posh accent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg bit the corner of his mouth and gripped his hands together tightly in his lap. “So, if I’m hearing you right...you’ve come to realize that I am not only attracted to you physically, but that I also have strong feelings for you. And you’ve decided to tell me about your husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s eyes went unfocused as he gazed at the opposite wall. </span>
  <span>“His name was Arthur. Arthur Baxley.” He cleared his throat and looked down at his ring. “We met at Oxford. Arthur was studying philosophy, and he was active in theatre. He was brilliant, and he made me laugh. We married young - I was twenty, and he was twenty-two. We were men and we were in our prime, and of course, that leant a sense of invincibility. We were gay, and we were self-righteous about our orientation. We ‘married’ - ” he says it as if he’s quoting, “- even though our parents frowned upon it, and even though I knew my career wouldn’t be conducive to outside attachments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, my superiors knew, but I was not at a level where they would have cared at the time. I was only just beginning in the military intelligence office, and I knew I could make my mark, as it were, and make myself indispensable as a member in their ranks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I threw myself into the work. I volunteered for assignments. I collected and calculated and interpreted necessary data. I made myself invaluable to the safety of England.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg raised his brows at this. “You are a super secret spy, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled, though it was weak. “I am merely a civil servant, a number cruncher and paper pusher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh,” Greg said, and shifted in his chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arthur and I were in love, but eventually my work became all consuming. He resented it of course, and moreso when he wasn’t working himself. He entered RADA after Oxford, much to his parents’ dismay. But then, he was never one for an office job. He found work as an actor on the stage, and when he wasn’t acting, he was writing. We supported ourselves well, and my parents had a trust fund for me, so we had nothing to worry for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As the years passed, we fought at times and we very nearly got divorced. Ultimately, we forgot, in our youthful haze, that a marriage takes work. I traveled often for work, and wasn’t home enough to do the work a marriage requires.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s voice was flat. His mouth twisted into a grimace, as his eyes, those blue-grey eyes, shone in the morning light spilling through the windows. The windows that looked out onto the close ocean view Greg had been so proud of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s chest tightened as he watched him. The grief - it was grief, right? - dimmed the light in those eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arthur may have found comfort and company in others. I decided I didn’t want to know. I did what I could to treat him well - gifts and trips and the like. I’d go home to him when I could. We called. Texted. He was my best friend, even if we weren’t the best of romantic partners.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg thought about this for a moment, his face giving a little scrunch. “Did you find comfort and company also?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s smile was sardonic. “I am the type of person to take vows and duties very seriously. While my work allows me some private time, to balance an affair and a marriage would have been nigh impossible. There were temptations and opportunities, to be sure, but I am...rather attached to the idea of fidelity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just...not for your partner?” Greg couldn’t help but ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s mouth tightened as he met Greg’s stare. “I’m a possessive man, Greg. But I could not bring myself to ask it of Arthur when I had disappointed him over and over and over.” He looked away, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together. “It was a misery to think about. I made the decision to remain ignorant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The unease in Greg’s gut thickened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I liked that our marriage was mostly a secret. My peers didn’t know, though my superiors did. I didn’t even wear a ring. I was the one who proposed, and we never bought one for me. It never occurred to me that that might be a problem until one day I saw that Arthur wasn’t wearing his. He’d lost it, he said. And when I offered to get him a new one, he declined, saying it was easier for him this way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft paused. He sighed, and fiddled with the ring. “It became a fight. We made up that night. The next day, I left for Prague. He was killed in a car crash within the week. The other man in the crash lived.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft straightened in his chair. Made a deep noise in his throat. Greg started to reach over, but the man held up one hand. “I found the ring, his ring, in the original ring box, in his dresser. Safe and sound.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He twisted the ring around his finger. “My uncle had primed me for civil service and my mother had groomed me for politics - which is its own kind of civil service, dubious as it may seem. All of my boyhood had been geared for it. The marriage was a rebellion of sorts, but I loved him. I wronged Arthur by prioritizing him after my career. Losing him was the most painful thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg couldn’t imagine it. He thought of how Jack’s affairs had ruined him, had made him afraid to reach out, made him feel worthless and alone. And here, Mycroft understood, even if he had made different decisions, decisions of aversion and concealment. It was just like Mycroft, he realized. Mycroft seemed to always be hiding how he felt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, Jack hadn’t died. Only the relationship had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg had kept himself alone for two years. Jo’s words about his choices crossed his mind. She was right - he’d been afraid. And he wasn’t even in love with Jack. Not anymore. Not even at the time of the break-up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Mycroft loved his husband - loved him still, it seemed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, how that must hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg reached over and grabbed Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft stiffened, and looked at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, Mycroft.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. So,” he cleared his throat and pulled his hand from Greg’s, “You see, this cannot be more than what it is already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg wasn’t sure he’d heard the words correctly, but when he ran them through his mind again, the meaning sank in. His stomach turned while something painful twisted in his chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course, he still wears the ring, he’s still in love with his husband.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And how could Greg compete with a ghost? Especially since Mycroft hadn’t told him about the ghost. Because they weren’t together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked down at his lap as he placed his hand on one thigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” His voice came out gruff. He swallowed past the stone lodged in his throat. He was the guy everyone fucked, and would fuck for as long as he let them do it. Not the guy people brought home to meet the parents, and not the guy people would marry. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But you knew this. You knew this. He’s from fucking Britain. This was a summer fling, and you let it get bigger than that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What happened to just telling him you loved him, and that was that, even if he didn’t love you back?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You hoped. You hoped he would love you back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You convinced yourself that he loved you, too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, truth hurts, I guess.” Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft hummed in question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I let this get bigger. I’m sorry. That’s my fault. My bad. I’ll, uh, pull back. Keep it light, right?” His heart might as well have been face down on the floor, beating the wood with one fist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mixed scents of eggs, sea salt air, and a slight hint of Mycroft’s cologne made his stomach churn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I forgot.” He stood. “And I’m sorry about your husband. That’s awful. And I don’t want to throw my own emotional baggage on you right now, so I’m gonna go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked alarmed. “Greg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Mycroft. I’m just, I’m just an idiot. I guess I’m not good at keeping things casual.” Greg blew out his cheeks. “I, uh, I messed up. And it’s not your fault. You’re just so wonderful, I forgot that this was temporary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft watched him with wide eyes as he began backing up towards the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m, uh, I’ve got the wrong idea, I guess.” Greg rubbed the back of his neck, turned to the door, and then turned back. “I’m - I’m in love with you. Which is stupid for me to say now, because obviously you picked up on the fact that I caught feelings. I didn’t mean for it to happen, and I’m sorry. I know you’re just here for another month and then you’re going back. I  guess I’d hoped we could figure something out, perhaps. But you’re right, this went further, and it shouldn’t have and I’m an idiot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft stared, his eyes reminding Greg again of beautiful whale-skin grey, or a storm over the sea. “Sorry,” Greg said. “Sorry.” And he walked out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stumbled and rushed to his car, got in, and turned the key in the ignition. He didn’t look at the cottage as he left, driving down the road. Eventually, he pulled off, lowered his head against the wheel, and cried.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg drove the seven and a half hours home with only one stop to pee. He tried to snack on pretzels but could barely swallow them, even with gulps of water. He listened to music, but any song that reminded him of Mycroft was skipped. He pressed the skip button quite a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignored any texts he heard buzz through on his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scratch greeted him at the door, and he checked his phone out of habit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m so sorry. It was never my intention to hurt you. MH</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg huffed. His eyes stung. He rubbed at them and then typed a reply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not your fault. We knew what this was from the beginning.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Still. We’ve grown close. You are wonderful, and </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>it pains me to think of you hurting. MH</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m a big boy. I just need some time to myself. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe in a couple weeks, we can get a drink. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Have a hang before you take off back across the pond.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a pause.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If that’s what you’d like to do,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I will take my cues from you. MH</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg couldn’t find it in himself to answer. He threw the phone down and flopped onto the sofa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picked his phone back up, thinking he’d call Jo. Who was still out on a cruise ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He put the phone back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picked up the remote and turned the television on. With a quiet sigh he put on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Schitt’s Creek.</span>
  </em>
  <span> At least Patrick and David could find some happiness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg toed off his shoes, and curled under the soft throw, trying to forget the mess that was his love life. A headache was forming. His brain was in a murky haze, and his chest hurt. He texted Jordana. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still felt bad about that argument, but Jo was right. And she loved him. And she wasn’t the type to spout ‘I told you so.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mycroft and I broke it off. Getting too real. Too big. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His phone rang a moment later. Greg hit the red button and texted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t feel like talking right now. It totally sucked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Greg, i gotchu. What happened? Luv u, sweetie.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was stupid. I thought we meant more than he did. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s still in love with his dead husband. I can’t blame </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>him, the guy was “brilliant”, went to Oxford and RADA.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wtf is RADA? And he has a dead husband?!! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When was he going to say anything?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Some fancy theatre school. Guy was an actor. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Died in a car accident. That’s why he wears the ring.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But he said he wasn’t married!!! I mean, sure, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>maybe he’s not technically married, but he should </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>have told you!!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It doesn’t matter. I did something stupid. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He tells me this heartbreaking story about losing </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>his husband, and I just left like a coward.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I told him I loved him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Awww, Greg. :-(</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know I know. I’m an idiot. I knew it couldn’t go </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>anywhere but then I started to hope. Anyway, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>he used this story about his husband to tell me </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>why we couldn’t be anything but a fling, basically.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg then remembered, with a hot flush across his neck, how Jo and he had argued only the week before, and she’d accused him of only going for men who, ultimately, were unavailable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>After u said u loved him!!! ?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, I started feeling weird and then acting weird </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and then it just sort of came out of my mouth.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was trying to explain why I was acting weird and </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I got tired of hiding it. Besides, I think he knew it </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and that’s why he told me about Arthur. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus, G. I wish I could be there to hug you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s all real shit. I still can’t believe he’s a widow! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And didn’t say anything!!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He said something today.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And how long have u 2 been “having fun”?!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know I know. Maybe you were right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry about that fight.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry 2</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg stared at his phone. He didn’t want to analyze himself further, or talk about the fight, so he quickly switched the topic back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I told him I needed some time. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe see each other for drinks before he </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>leaves for England.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh Gregster, I’m so sorry. You’re an amazing guy </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and Mycroft’s a punk. Who doesn’t mention a </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>dead. husband.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m in the wrong, Jo. I wasn’t supposed to get serious.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not like the heart can help itself. And you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>got a big one</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg bit his lip, feeling the sting of another bout of tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peri and I luv u lots. U will never be alone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>U have us. Always. &lt;3</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even after I get married. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We’re still family.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And maybe one day, Marcus</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>can be your family, too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg snorted. There was a fat chance of that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks. I’m going to bed early i think.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ok. Call me if u need anything or just wanna talk. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m here for u.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks. Luv u.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Luv u. Lots and lots. Hugs. &lt;3</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg put his phone down, and pulled the throw over his head. If he could just like women, he and Jo would have married years ago, and then they’d be happily in love and married and he wouldn’t have to deal with all this heartbreak shit. Maybe there would have been another kid after Peregrine. Peregrine and this other kid might know their grandmother better, even if she was an old white racist. Maybe his brother would be part of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe. Guess there was no telling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck it all,” Greg said through the throw. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the morning, Greg woke, and remembered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach clutched and his heart ached like someone was wringing it out, kneading it like bread dough. Scratch was keeping one hip of his warm, while the throw covered only half of him. Greg sat up and the cat hopped off the couch and headed for the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A crick in his neck made itself known as he lifted himself to standing, and he stretched for some modicum of relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air seemed still and cold, like the space around him was too big. Scratch walked out of the kitchen, yowled, and walked back into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gotcha, I gotcha,” Greg said. He ignored the useless thumping of his heart against his rib cage. His insides hurt and his eyes felt like they might get wet at any time, and Greg needed to forget, just forget everything about Mycroft Holmes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking Holmes,” Greg muttered as he opened a can of cat food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scratch mrrped, and Greg placed the dish on the floor. The gray tom immediately dug in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His back hurt and cracked as he stretched. He looked at his phone. It was Tuesday. He’d planned to take Artemis out for an early morning flight. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank the fucking universe for these animals; otherwise I’d be a lump on the couch all day.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck him,” Greg said as he began to peel out of yesterday’s clothes. He glanced at his phone. No messages. “Fuck him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scratch watched him while crouched over his food dish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, kitty, I’m just a mess.” Greg gathered up his clothes and headed for the bathroom for a shower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he brought Artemis out, Candy, that brilliant, white-haired woman with an unrelenting zeal for life, came walking by. Greg bit back a frown as he remembered that she was the one who told him about that new birder on the trails. Mycroft. This mess wasn’t her fault and he hated that he now associated her with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Candy,” he greeted her with a nod. Artemis sat on his glove, lifting her wings with excitement. After being cooped up for a few days, Greg had no doubt she was eager to fly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Candy waved to him. “Greg!” She paused where she was and Greg appreciated her keeping her distance. “Where’s your young man this morning? Molly tells me you two have become quite the item.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s face fell before he thought to school it. His heart clenched and he felt nauseous for a moment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus Christ. Does everyone know about Mycroft? Do Molly and Jo ever talk about anything else? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Well, we’ve cooled it for a bit. He’s going back to England, y’know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her wide smile slipped. “Well, Greg, I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t realize he’d be leaving. Sorry to have asked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I knew it was coming.” He shifted his weight as his chest tightened and a lump formed in his throat. “I forgot something in the mews.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Candy looked worried, but she nodded. “Oh, yes. I should be going. Take care, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too.” Greg waved and headed around the house and for the mews. He leaned against the little building to catch his breath. Artemis chirped a bit and gave him a look of disdain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg thought about smiling. Anthropomorphizing the birds was something he often cautioned against in his work, but he couldn’t help but do it himself sometimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he felt steady again, he walked toward the trail in the front of his house. When he rounded the corner, the sight before him stole his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft stood at the steps, staring at Greg’s front door. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I promise to make it all better in the next chapter. I promise.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Vining</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Tropisms are types of growth in plants. Phototropism is very easy to see - plants tend to grow in the direction of light. Gravitropism guides the direction of roots, and in negative gravitropism, the direction of stems. Thigmotropism is fascinating - plants responding to touch. You can see this in the tendrils of pea plants and other climbers. When the stem (or the tendrils) comes into contact with an object, chemicals are released that cause the stem to bend toward the object. More quickly, you can see it in the snap of a venus fly-trap. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Roots get even more interesting. They can respond to objects with negative thigmotropism - think tree roots in a brick pathway. Negative thigmotropism occurs when the stem bends away from an object, and it is sometimes powerful enough to overcome that other form of growth, gravitropism. Wherever it needs to go to overcome its obstacles and keep living, it'll go, gravity or no.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg felt his stomach roil, and his heartbeat grew faster, like the speedy dribble of a basketball against asphalt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft.” He was glad his tone was hard, rather than astonished. Or worse, hopeful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg,” the other man said in a rush of air. “I, uh -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here for your things?” It came out harsh. it took effort to soften his voice. “There’s the toothbrush, and I think I have some of your clothes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - can we talk?” Mycroft clutched the sleeves of his shirt as he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg bit his lower lip and glanced at Artemis. “I’m kinda busy right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft drew in a breath. “Yes, sorry. I can wait, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jittery, Greg asked, “Um, do you want to wait inside?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s cheeks reddened. “I could. I do love to watch her, though, if you don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, what the fuck. I mean, I’m the one who has fucked things up, and he’s just trying to be friendly, and we can still be friends, right? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Though I did think I could get some space before we started being friends.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure.” Greg walked onto the trail toward the field, trying to ignore how his insides flip-flopped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Artemis seemed to sense Greg’s tension, and was a little hesitant that day. She landed in a tree and made Greg wait before coming back down to the glove. They worked for about thirty minutes in silence, all of Greg’s hand signals and whistles controlled despite the hiccuping race of his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could ignore Mycroft as long  as he focused on Artemis. After all, she was here before this man, and would still be here after him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it was finally time to put the red-tail back in the mews, Greg didn’t look at Mycroft. He simply entered the mews, and placed Artemis back on the branch, unsnapping the leash. He walked out and locked the door behind him. He noticed Scratch was watching them from a window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kay, let’s head in.” Greg opened his back door and Mycroft followed him in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gestured to the sofa. Mycroft sat, and Greg took the seat at the opposite end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s spine was rigid, but his hands were trembling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it that you want to talk about?” Greg asked, bracing himself for the answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, I - I think I gave you the wrong idea yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seemed pretty clear.” Greg gritted, keeping his hands clasped in his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I wasn’t.” Mycroft said. “I loved my husband, in different ways over the years. His loss was tremendous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg knew it was probably unkind, but he didn’t want to hear Mycroft go on about the guy he married. He hoped Mycroft couldn’t see a scowl on his face. “Of course. Do you want me to get your stuff?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft flinched, and his face paled as his eyes grew wide at Greg. “I didn’t. I didn’t finish. Please let me finish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft, I’m sorry about your husband. I wish you had told me sooner, but I understand why you didn't.” Greg shifted in his chair. “And I’m sorry I developed feelings for you. But I can’t...I can’t sit this close to you and not want -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft slid down the sofa to within inches of Greg. “Stop, just please stop it. I’m trying to tell you that your feelings are returned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg blinked. “But -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what I said. And all of it is true, though it did get harder to love my husband at the end. I - I was trying to convince myself that I couldn’t feel anything for anyone. But Greg, I love you. I’m in love with you.” Mycroft shook his head. “I was trying to deter you. I didn’t think - I was all turned around. I don’t know how to make this work, and I thought if I told you about Arthur, you'd see why I'd make a terrible choice in partner. But when you told me you loved me, even after what I said...you are a braver man than I. I couldn’t - I couldn’t walk away when I thought you should know...the feeling is very, very mutual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seemed to run out of air. Greg’s insides swooped with glee, followed quickly by disbelief, and then dampened by suspicion. “You said you don’t know how to make this work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft worked his lips together as he composed a reply. “My career is all consuming. I am one of the greatest assets to the British government, and I cannot just abandon her people. It’s worse now than when I was married. And that’s what I meant, when I said that we couldn’t be more than what we are now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room seemed to be spinning.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want you to think that you were somehow unworthy, or that your feelings were unrequited. You have sent me into a quagmire of thoughts and emotions that I haven’t experienced in a long time. I, in my bumbling way, was trying to tell you that you were important to me, as Arthur once was, but I can’t be a partner to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach twisted, as if he was ill. “You did a piss-poor job of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I did. But I also did not realize the extent of your feelings for me. I had hoped...some part of me hoped, but it’s a selfish part, do you understand? Even if we feel this way for one another, it can’t be anything beyond this summer.” Mycroft’s hands were on his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what we keep fucking through the summer and then you leave and we both have broken hearts? What is that, Mycroft?” Greg said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What if this is just some ploy to keep me as a fucktoy? What a fucked up mess this is. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“How do I know that you’re telling the truth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft blanched. “Beg your pardon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pretty convenient for sex, aren’t I? And we’re good at it together.” Greg knew he was being unfair, but old hurts clashed with new ones and blazed inside his chest. He’d been hurting for a long time. In that moment his mind clouded with memories of Jack, but close behind was his brother and his mother, and then nebulous thoughts of an absent father. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone leaves.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d left Maine, but it was his mother and brother who left him first. His mother the manipulator, and his brother, who closed up and cut Greg off. They acted like Greg was the one in the wrong, but really? He saw it now. He looked like his father and that upset his mother. He was gay, and his brother pulled away from him. Jack didn’t love him, but loved what Greg could do for him. Even his own daughter was pulling away from him while inviting a new father figure into her life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Mycroft…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When was Greg going to stand up for himself?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not just your American fucktoy. I’m not here for you to use and discard when you get tired of me.” He stood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, please, that’s not what I think at all.” Mycroft looked up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ever since we started - every time - every time we started to get closer, you had some convenient excuse to back away. The first night you came here, for the chili, you left the moment we admitted both of us are gay. When we started this whole thing, you almost ghosted me entirely. I had to practically beg for your attention over text. Everything we do is my move. I invited you to the Cape. To Acadia. Dinner. Everything!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, it isn’t -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get out. Leave.” Exhaustion settled on him with a heavy weight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft pulled to his full height, his jaw tense, and his eyes glimmering. “Please believe me, and allow me to explain. You...you weren’t far off when you asked if I was a spy...my work can be dangerous, and my superiors are strict, and my devotion to England’s safety is paramount -” He walked, slowly, to the door. “But I wouldn't lie to you. I’ve never said those words to anyone but Arthur.” He placed his hand on the doorknob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence stretched between them, neither man moving. Mycroft gripped the doorknob, his eyes on the floor. Greg had run out of steam, no longer caring whether the words he’d thrown at Mycroft were true or not. He only wanted to hurt him. Hurt someone. Anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus. This is a mess. I’m a mess.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anger still burned low in his belly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft set his shoulders back, still gripping the knob, still staring at the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I</span>
  <span> can infer facts from the minor details of a person,” he said, “and combined with the balance of probability, can determine the past of a person, and likely predict their future to some extent. But you, you have taught me details that are truly significant in the course of life - details I thought irrelevant.” His voice was quiet, low. Deliberate. </span>
  <span>“And that’s life with a capital L, the life that will continue on this earth, perhaps beyond the scope of human life. You’ve taught me about the first butterfly of spring, the mourning cloak, and its flight in the wake of the yellow-bellied sapsucker, tasting the sweet early sugars of the trees. You’ve taught me that hummingbirds build their tiny nests with the strings of spider webbing and the hairs of the cinnamon fern. That bees see flowers in colors beyond our own comprehension. You’ve awakened me to a new world, a world of tremendous importance which we ignore to our great error.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned the handle and opened the door, stared now through the screen to the outside. “I could not help but fall in love with you, and it grieves me to know that you have been so mistreated that you cannot begin to trust me. But, please, believe me. Even if you do not speak to me again, know that you are in fact, loved, and that you are in fact, valued. '</span>
  <em>
    <span>You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.'</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s anger melted, and behind it, a torrent of tears threatened to overwhelm him. He turned from Mycroft and with a hand over his mouth to cover the sob. It came out, high pitched, wounded, the pitiful whine of a pained creature. In seconds he felt warm arms encircle him. His chest tore with sobs, hot tears waterfalling down his cheeks, soaking his stubble and his neck as Mycroft held him. He murmured soft, caring words and Greg sobbed, grieving for the small boy and the young man who had felt like he’d done everything right and yet could only do wrong, who looked for affection where he couldn’t receive it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and why did Jo have to be right? Why was he looking for punishment and limited affections? Why did he stay so long with someone who couldn’t love him?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, here was someone who professed to love him, but couldn’t stay. Greg buried his face in his hands as his lungs heaved. Mycroft turned him around and pulled him in tightly. He stroked his back and Greg could hear him say, “I’m sorry to upset you. You are safe with me. I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re leaving. Everyone leaves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft sighed and pressed closer. “God, Greg, if I could change things. If I could...you’re so precious to me. I don’t know how you did it, but somehow you slipped beneath my guard, and I hate to see you hurting. It hurts me to see you hurting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg drew in deep, gasping breaths. “I don’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will explain it to you. I will. As soon as you’re ready to listen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg scrubbed the tears from his face. Mycroft handed him a handkerchief. He wiped his face and neck and handed it back to him, unable to look him in the eye. He sniffled and grabbed a paper towel from the kitchen to blow his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘M sorry,” he said. “I lost my temper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emotions are running high between us,” Mycroft said with his usual calm. “After an eventful weekend that included a difficult family visit and heightening feelings between the two of us. My...bumbling attempt to share my feelings with you did not help things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I don’t get it. From what you said, it seemed pretty clear to me that you were keeping the boundaries clear between us - friends with benefits, only.” Greg swallowed. He was sure his face was still red from crying, plus his lingering sense of shame and frustration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I was trying to tell you that I am a terrible partner choice, because of my job. I had someone I loved, and who loved me, and I...failed to keep him happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he was unhappy, he should have either worked it out with you or ended it with you, not gone to find comfort in someone else.” It probably wasn’t good to speak ill of Mycroft’s dead husband, but Greg couldn’t help it. It smarted to know that Mycroft had been cheated on, even if he only strongly suspected it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Theat is nothing I can change now,” Mycroft said in a quiet voice. “Perhaps it would have been more fair of me to let him go. I decided to keep him in name, even if I couldn’t keep him in body.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, Mycroft.” Greg roughly rubbed his hand through his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I’m not...I’m not a good man. Just...tolerable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been very good to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Until I upset you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were wonderful until then,” Greg gave a small smile. “So, it might balance out.” His sigh was heavy and tired. His chest still felt pained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we...can we sit on your sofa? And...may I hold you?” Mycroft asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s heart lurched. “Okay. Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat on the sofa. Scratch watched them from the chair, possibly casing them for potential scritches and cuddles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft sat in the corner and Greg sat next to him, leaning into his embrace. He moved himself into a comfortable spot where he could lay his head on Mycroft’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner. I needed some time to think. I must admit, for a moment I considered letting it end as it did yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s jaw clenched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I realized you deserve to know the truth. You were following your own instinct: being honest and generous with your feelings, despite your history. It was time for me to be brave and honest, too. You deserve that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg gave a small, slow nod, jaw still clenched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you have to know...my job is such that I have little personal time to dedicate to a relationship.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg forced air through his cheeks. “O-kay. By choice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not as such, perhaps. Not at first.” Mycroft seemed to be struggling to gather his thoughts. Greg could feel him tensing. The interrupted rise and fall of his breath. The stilted way he spoke. “At first, I had Arthur. And then I didn’t. Even before he died, I didn’t. I threw myself further into my work to escape the fact that I had failed in my marriage.” He licked his lips and swallowed. “Greg, please try to understand that what I’m saying here...I’ve never told anyone. I don’t speak about Arthur. I don’t...reveal vulnerabilities to others. Just you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg made his jaw unclench. “Okay,” he said. “I’m listening. For what it's worth, I do understand why you didn't say anything about him. You didn't owe me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for that,” Mycroft said, and Greg could hear the relief in his voice. “When first we met, I had been hoping I misread your interest. That you were this well-meaning, overly friendly man with latent homosexual tendencies. Or perhaps you’d been married to a woman, and came to realize your sexuality later, and were then fumbling your way through it, unsure of how to proceed. I couldn’t - I couldn’t quite read you clearly. And that night, when you confirmed you were gay with such ease, such marks of experience, I realized I was in the presence of someone who was nervous and definitely attracted. I felt...outclassed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I scared you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft gave a small laugh. “Immensely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s why you high-tailed it out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Though, that’s not what I told myself at the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What...did you tell yourself at the time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That I was taking a step back to reassess. Giving myself space to think rationally.” Mycroft pressed his lips to the side of Greg’s head. “It’s difficult for me to think rationally around you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg digested this. Thought of Mycroft’s cool, collected demeanor, his reserve and his controlled grasp on his stronger emotions. The way he appeared that morning at Greg’s house that led to their first sexual tryst. Nervous. Uncertain. Afraid? “And then...when you sort of ghosted me after we saw the owls?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good Lord, I realized...I realized then that this could become something...very precious to me. Something more than a summer’s arrangement. I - I thought it would be one-sided. I - I needed that space again. And then you sent me that bit of poetry and I was undone. Yours again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Later, I began to realize that you might be feeling...significant this could be. Even with my ridiculous outburst on Cape Cod, with my last-ditch effort to convince you I was not what you wanted...you surprised me.” He ran his fingers through Greg’s hair. “How could anyone not love you, Greg Lestrade?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg bit his lip as a swell of sadness overcame him. “And this is it. We admit our feelings, and you go back to England, and we’re just supposed to forget each other?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg. I could not even manage a marriage wherein I lived in the same house as my partner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah. So, you’ve already given up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft lowered his head, pressed his temple to Greg’s. “I - I don’t know what else to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg was just about to tell him ‘that’s some bullshit’ when Mycroft whispered, “Please, tell me how we can make this work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart flickered with hope. He worked his jaw, turned his nose into Mycroft’s cheek. “Is that something you’d want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More than anything,” Mycroft said, in that same, desperate whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg chewed the inside of his cheek, pressed his nose harder into Mycroft’s cheek, and felt his heartbeat increase. He let himself voice the little wishes he’d been having, freckling the thoughts in his mind. “Let’s say we stay in touch. We visit on holidays or what have you. We Skype. We sex over Skype,” - Mycroft laughed softly - “and maybe something will change down the road. I don’t know what. But I’d hate it if we didn’t at least try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? You’ll move to London?” Mycroft scoffed, but he held Greg tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Closer to doing that than you think.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I’m just asking that you don’t knock us out of the running just yet. Why don’t we...try it for a year, and then see how we feel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft was quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t think we’d last…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m calculating the probabilities.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, this isn’t math. This is...these are our feelings. I don’t expect my feelings for you to just fade. It’ll be hard. I know. It’ll be so hard. But,” Greg swallowed. “Let’s just try, and then see where we are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft pursed his lips as if in thought. “I find I cannot deny you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg chanced a joke. “That’s because you love me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft met his eyes. “I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s heart thumped. “Okay. That’s good. Because I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Mycroft said, and his eyes glinted. “Thank you for talking me into this. For giving me hope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg turned in Mycroft’s embrace and kissed him. It became heated in seconds, with Greg’s tongue seeking entrance to Mycroft’s mouth. Mycroft whimpered as their tongues slid together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pushed himself up and swung a knee over Mycroft’s lap. They clutched at hair and clothes as they devoured each other’s mouths, breaking apart with small gasps and whimpers. Mycroft’s hips surged, and Greg rocked his, rubbing his erection against Mycroft’s. It was delicious, and they were quick to repeat it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They parted to stare in each other’s eyes. “Bedroom?” Greg asked. Mycroft’s eyes shone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel I should clarify that I didn’t come here just for make up sex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Consider it a bonus,” Greg smiled and rubbed his nose to Mycroft’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t deserve you,” Mycroft said as he stroked Greg’s jawline with a finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not about who deserves what or who, is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps. But I don’t wish to take advantage of your good nature.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft, do you want to be with me? Do you want to try this year?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do. God help me, I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then take me to bed, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft pressed his forehead to Greg’s, his hands cupping his face. “You drive a hard bargain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I’m worth it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft lowered his nose and brushed it against Greg’s. “God help me, you are.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Ode to a Firefly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>A refrain I often hear is "you don't see as many fireflies as you used to." Fireflies, or lightning bugs, are such a unique and special bioluminescent organism. The adults communicate to one another via a chemical reaction that produces a soft flickering of light in their abdomens. This joyous sight, long the herald of summer days, is what makes fireflies so popular. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The larvae of fireflies are considerably less popular - strange, six-legged grub-like creatures with segments and ridges that look nothing like their parents. While there are multiple variables in the decline of insects all over the world, here's an easy one for fireflies: their offspring live in leaf litter. If you get rid of all your leaves every fall and chop up any leftovers in the springtime, you've likely killed your local fireflies, too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And not just fireflies, but a bevy of insects that overwinter in leaf litter, including ones like the beautiful Luna and Polyphemus moths. An easy fix if you've got the yard for it? Declare some sanctuaries: pick a corner or two in your yard that goes wild. Or places where leaves can be dumped. Or leave the leaves in garden beds. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A couple seasons pass while those dark, dank bits of biodiverse ecosystems are percolating, and one beautiful June or July evening, you'll notice tiny yellow stars moving across your backyard in a flickering symphony as if to say: </span>
  </em>
  <span>Life, Life is here. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And Life is meant to celebrated in a myriad of ways for all creatures.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mycroft pushed Greg down on the bed and grabbed his wrists. He placed them above Greg’s head and trailed hot kisses along Greg’s neck. They’d removed their shirts in a whirl of open-lipped kisses and flailing limbs, eager to press their nude chests together. Greg tossed his head against the bedspread as Mycroft licked and nipped at the line of his clavicle, following the crest to his shoulder, and then across to the other side. Greg thrust his hips upward, but Mycroft took one hand away from his wrists and held his hip to the mattress. “Hold still. Let me love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, Mycroft,” Greg said. Mycroft released his wrists and tongued down Greg’s pecs, sucking one nipple and then the other into his mouth. He wiggled the peaks with his tongue, and Greg whined beneath him, his hips bucking and his hands gripping the pillow. “Jesus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft, please,” Mycroft said through teeth around one nipple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft released his nipple. “I’m going to make you come with my name on your lips.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, oh please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so good for me, always so good for me.” Mycroft palmed his erection in his pants. Greg whined and pressed against his hand. “Be still. I’m going to unzip you, and I’m going to take care of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg waited, tensing his body, licking his lips and trying not to vibrate with excitement as Mycroft pulled down his zipper, and then his briefs. He rolled his head around as he felt the man’s breath on his cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are magnificent,” came Mycroft’s voice. “Utterly magnificent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg lifted his hips to help Mycroft remove his shorts. When Mycroft licked the tip of his cock, he let out a long moan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, you taste delicious,” Mycroft said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Comes with being vegetarian,” Greg cracked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a warm puff of breath from Mycroft’s mouth, and then he was engulfed with heat as Mycroft swallowed him down, almost to the root. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus! Mycroft!” He thumped his head back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft hummed in answer. Greg spread his thighs so Mycroft could settle between them. Mycroft responded by pushing them up and popping off of Greg’s cock. “I want you inside me. I want to ride you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg nodded, speechless. They switched often enough, but the idea of Mycroft fucking himself on Greg’s cock while Greg watched made his blood pound in his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft stood and yanked down his own pants and briefs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His pants and his pants</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Greg thought to himself with a dopey smile. Mycroft rifled through the bedside drawer for the lube and a condom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have one request,” Greg said, looking up at the ceiling. “Let’s get tested.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft paused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get tested today. Then we can do this before you go back. I want to feel you come inside me, and I wanna come in you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft nodded, his face flushed in the low light. “Yes. We’ll do that.” He got onto his knees on the bed and grabbed Greg and kissed him madly. Greg responded in kind, and they sucked on each other’s tongues and lips until Greg finally pushed him away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get the condom on. I want you to ride me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come saying my name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna make you come first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft unwrapped the condom and slid it onto Greg’s cock. Greg lay back, basking in the pleasurable pressure of Mycroft’s fingers as he applied the lube. Mycroft straddled Greg’s stomach, his own long, rosy-colored cock sticking straight up at his belly button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t long before Greg was fully sheathed inside Mycroft. The heat was intoxicating, the slide of Mycroft’s channel around his cock spurred thrills up through his groin and up his spine. Mycroft bounced slowly above Greg, his bare chest lightly furred with copper hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god, you’re so tight,” Greg gasped. “You’re so tight. We fit so well together. We fit, god.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft threw his head back and puffed out his chest. Small, choked cries erupted from his lips as Greg worked his dick in and out, gripped Mycroft’s hips and pumped. Mycroft jerked with the thrusts, and his face was a visage of ecstasy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg paused for a moment, and grabbed the lube. He squirted it onto his palm and grabbed Mycroft’s cock. “I want to watch you come on me. I want you to come on me and get me all messy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Christ, Greg,” Mycroft moaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You say I’m good for you, but fuck me, Mycroft, when you look like this, god you’re such a fucking beautiful man, and to see you riding my dick like this, to get to fuck you like this, to fill you up with my cock, I’m a lucky man, you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, keep talking -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? You like it when I talk about filling you up, don’t you? You’re all prim and proper but really, you like to get dicked out. You like it in your mouth or your ass, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft tensed up, his stomach muscles fluttering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And someday I’m going to fill your ass with my come, but maybe I’ll do it in your mouth, first. Are you going to swallow it all for me like a good boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! God, yes! Greg!” Mycroft’s body jerked as semen spurted from his cock over Greg’s hand, his belly, and into his chest hair. Greg fucked Mycroft through his orgasm, and when Mycroft got too sensitive, he helped Mycroft disengage. Mycroft, in a post-orgasmic bliss going by his syrupy movements and his hooded eyes, pulled the condom off of Greg, and sucked his cock into his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg fell back against the pillows and placed his hands in Mycroft’s hair, gripping, but not too tightly. “Yeah, like that. You’re so hungry for my cock, aren’t you? God, Mycroft. You’re so good at this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft bobbed up and down on the length of his dick, and Greg could feel the waves of tension build higher and higher. “Fuck, I’m so close. The way you rode my dick and now the way you swallow me down, ah, I can’t wait to feel the inside of you so hot and wet and - oh! Mycroft!” He clenched his teeth and bucked his hips as the orgasm hit him like a train thundering through his groin. Mycroft let the spray hit him in the face. Greg managed to open his eyes and watched the last bits of come hit the man across the cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His whole body sagged with the rush of endorphins. Mycroft got off the bed and Greg could hear him rifling through clothes, likely to wipe his face. Greg floated, boneless and relaxed. The bed dipped as the man stretched out on the bed beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was amazing,” Greg said. “Make-up sex for the win.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft snorted. Then said, “And perhaps we might nap awhile, have lunch, and then engage in an afternoon delight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re insatiable. Also crazy if you think I’m going to get it back up by then. I think I might have shot my brain through my cock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft broke into a giggle that was almost entirely unlike him. Greg had heard it before, when Mycroft was truly at ease and happy and post-coital. He loved the ringing, child-like sound, and it seemed likely that he was one of very few who have heard such a joyous noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snuggled closer to Mycroft, who curled onto his side. “I’m still sorry I lost my temper. I’m glad you came back to talk to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad I made the decision to come back here. I am still apprehensive about this coming year, I must admit, but...to think I could still have your affection, even from afar...it may make for a brighter year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Greg stroked Mycroft’s hair. “Yeah. Hard. I know. To have had all this time together, and then to have to be apart. But...it’s only the year. I was thinking… I’ve always wanted to see London. Maybe I’d come up for New Year’s?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled and kissed his pec. “I would be delighted to host you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, I was thinking...I could invite you to Thanksgiving. I know it’s not celebrated over there, but I thought you might want to come here…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will there be other people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, there will be. It’ll be done at Jo’s parents’ house this year. And, I’m inviting you, even though I know it’s not your thing. But we can do dinner at their house, and the rest of the weekend would be just you and me. You could fly in on Wednesday, maybe? Then back on Sunday? New Year’s will be my turn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft seemed to consider this. “I shall have to check my schedule, but that might be able to be arranged. Will you do Christmas with your family?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Peri and I go every year to either Christmas or Thanksgiving, alternating years. This year, it’s Christmas.” He sighed. “You know, I think I realized something while we were arguing. I think I...I think I’ve always sort of blamed myself that my dad left...my mom told me that he left her for another woman. And he left us. Just, totally left us. No custody involved or anything. I don’t even know where he is now. And I never went to go find him...because I thought he wouldn’t accept me for who I am. Isn’t that crazy? Like, I don’t mind that I’m gay, but I’ve sort of always thought that my mom and my brother did, so why wouldn’t my dad? And, you know, I think I’ve been punishing myself for it. And that’s why I...stay with people like Jack...or go with people who can’t be wholly available.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft stiffened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mean like you. Well...the fact that you were leaving at the end of the summer did fulfill the pattern… But I never fell in love with those other people. I dated a lot of people before Peri was born, and I was always picking relationships that wouldn’t, that just couldn’t last. And then I’d act like it was such a sad thing that another relationship got away from me, because I was actually lonely, but I didn’t actually feel for them what I feel for you. I loved Jack, but I was also trapped by him, and it was toxic. I don’t feel like what we have is toxic…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t either, nor do I wish it to become so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And here’s the other thing... I never fought for any of those people. I never asked to do the long-distance thing. I had one guy ask me if I wanted to try it, and I laughed in his face like an asshole.” Greg huddled closer. “But with you...I want it. I want to do this. I don’t want to lose you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft bit his lip and nodded. He nuzzled into Greg. “I love you.” His voice seemed tinged with desperation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too.” He interlaced his fingers with Mycroft’s. “We can do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft gazed into his eyes. “Yes. I think we can.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi babe,” Jo answered. “Want to come over for dinner? I know you probably haven’t eaten anything good for you in the past 48 hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, well...the past 24 hours have been a little different,” Greg said into his cell. He walked along the trail heading to the High Point Nature Preserve. The shade of the trees protected him from the hot sun and the thick humidity of the day. “Um, Mycroft showed up at my place yesterday morning. Turns out, it was kind of a misunderstanding?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, he still has a dead husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-kay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he says he fell in love with me, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Then...what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess...he thought it would be easier to let us break off what we were doing now, than stick together and break up before he goes to England...he said he could tell I felt deeply for him but he didn’t think it was love, but he was in love with me, so he miscalculated, and he thinks I’m amazing -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, slow down. So…what’s going to happen? You’re gonna let this go on? I mean, he still lives in England, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Greg blew air through his cheeks. “Yeah. We’re going to try the long distance thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, what have we got to lose? Neither of us have been in any kind of relationship for a while - him a long while. So, this is just one thing we’ll try. We’ll text, and we’ll skype and we’ll visit. We’ve decided to try it for one year, and then we’ll talk about what we can do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What you can do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen…” He inhaled. “You can’t talk to Molly about this. Or to Damien, because I have no idea how much you all talk to each other, and I can’t deal with everyone else discussing my love life and my personal stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, but Greg, we don’t talk shit about you. We talk about how we can help you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate your intentions, but it makes me feel a little weird. Like you think I can’t handle my shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s...not exactly it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, anyway...I feel a little like I’m stagnating here. Like, I love the life I’ve built, but I’ve always wanted to do more, and see more around the world. You know that, Jo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. And I know what stopped you from doing that was our decision to keep the baby -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not blaming anyone. I don’t regret keeping Peri. She’s the best thing ever.” He ducked beneath a low branch. “I’m just saying, now I might get to do something different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, like move to England?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not saying it's definite. I’m just putting it on the list of possibilities.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you even do there? What about your career?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I happen to know they have naturalists in England.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither said anything for a moment. A twig snapped beneath his boot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a small voice, Jo said, “And us? I know we don’t live together, but we co-parent. Peri will be a sophomore this fall. I’ve always thought of us as a family, even if we live in two different houses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course we’re a family. And that won’t stop if I go somewhere else.” Greg stopped walking. “And, anyway, you two will have Marcus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Her voice was sharp. “Marcus isn’t you. We love you for you. I’ve never minded that we’ve been so nontraditional, y’know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jo,” Greg said. “Jo, I’m lonely. I’ve been fucking lonely for a log time, even when I was with Jack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I know. It’s not the same between you and I, like it is with me and Marcus, or you and someone you love romantically. I just...I’ll miss you like crazy if you leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same goes for you. And Peregrine.” He started walking again. “It’s not a guarantee, you know. There’s a risk this thing with Mycroft goes belly up. Long distance is no cake walk. But I love him, Jo. I really love him. And I’m not going to go anywhere until Peri goes to college.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. Okay. I know.” She sighed. “And I am happy for you. I am. I hope this does work out for you. But can I say I feel like it’s a little crazy that you’re already talking moving to another country?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is. I just...I feel it in my gut. He’s the one.” Greg bit his lip. “He’s my one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I know how that feels. So I’m glad. For you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m also calling because I want to invite you over for dinner this weekend when I have Peri. I want us all to sit down, so you can get to know him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. That would be lovely. I’d love to get to know him. Can I bring Marcus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er...well, he’s not that comfortable with crowds...I’d sort of rather keep it small, keep it to our family dynamic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. That’s fine. This time. But listen, Greg, and I’ve told Marcus the same thing. Marcus is becoming part of this family’s dynamic. And you are part of our family dynamic with Marcus. I don’t want two dynamics. I want you and Marcus to stop whatever caveman thing it is you two are doing, and let us become a cohesive whole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, okay. But I don’t think we’re the type who would normally get along?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s crazy, Greg. What, just because he likes sports or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get the feeling he’s not too fond of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what he says about you. I want the two of you to actually get to know each other, to spend more time with one another and with Peri. All of us. Together. This dinner can be Peri, me, and you, with Mycroft. But eventually Marcus and I are getting married and then there’ll be fitting all of us together, plus Mycroft.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does this mean he’s coming to yoga?” Greg groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, that’s our thing,” she said with a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh thank god.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I’m not trying to control the two of you. I just want all the people in my life who I love to at least get to know each other. Maybe even like each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like him for you, Jo. He makes you happy and that makes me happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awww, you’re the sweetest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. Tell Marcus that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haha, I kid.” Greg stared into the canopies of the trees, his eyes tracing along the gaps of the crown shyness. “Well, I better get headed in to work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Talk to you later. Love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg looked ahead at the path, and the building at the end. Life was beginning to look up. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. The Pack</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>There’s a lot to be said about family groups as formed by social animals. It might be as necessary to survival as safety in numbers, or working together to find food. But we, being social animals ourselves, know there can be more to it than that: the sense of comfort, support, and connection we cultivate within loving family groups helps to build mental health and stability.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wolves, foxes, and coyotes can form family groups with strong social bonds. The group is led by a pair who mate each year, and have a litter. Both parents are engaged in the care of the offspring, and other pack members will help the young to learn more as they grow. These packs will even adopt stray or lone members of their species, and form a cohesive family group. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I think of those lone animals, those who have left their natal family group for whatever reason, and travel the wilderness in search of a mate or a new family. Found family. It’s inspiring. For whatever reason, we may not fit the family we were born into, but we do have the power to form a new one.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg opened the grill and the odor of char wafted through the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So now you and Minecraft are dating?” Peri peered over his shoulder, having decided that she should know how to operate a grill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg snorted. “Minecraft?” He crouched and turned the handle for the propane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She giggled. Her dark skin was tanned even darker after returning from the cruise. “That’s what Marcus and I call him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s belly went cold at that. He clicked the lighter and watched the flames burn blue beneath the rack. “Yeah? Is it a funny-haha or a funny-mean joke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri’s eyes fixed on him. “We’re not being mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Just be careful about name calling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not meant to be mean. He has a funny name. I have a funny name. I’ll let him make fun of my name if it’ll make him feel better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” Greg smiled. “I’m not sure he'll know what ‘Minecraft’ is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s better than Mytoff, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mytoff?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She giggled again, balancing on the balls of her feet. “Yeah, because he’s kind of a toff, isn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you even know what a toff is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because of Harry Potter fanfiction, duh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Excuse me. Of course. I forgot about the wonders of British fanfiction.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d get to learn more about the country’s culture if you did read it, dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I’ll just visit it instead, and get actual facts from the actual people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, plenty of British people write fanfiction. And it’s cheaper than flying there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do have a point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of which, I have something I want to talk to you and mom about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” She picked at a thread on her shorts. “About my junior year. And, the study abroad program at school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg paused. “Study abroad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I, uh, thought it would be neat to go for one semester. They have a study abroad program that matches you with a host family. You go to school there, and you can work on your French, but also keep up with schoolwork. I just…” She scuffed one shoe on the ground. “I would love to go. And, I know it’ll cost a lot of money, but maybe I can do some fundraising, like a gofundme or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s stomach clutched at the thought of letting Peri go overseas. “Have you talked to your mom yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Peri scratched her chin. “I think she’d let me go if we had the money. Besides, it would probably be nice for her and Marcus to enjoy some of their first year married together without me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s heart twisted at that, but he said, “You’re a real thoughtful daughter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged. “Well, I do want to go to France.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed. “And what about your vlog?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Kayla and I have a bunch of followers. I was thinking I might ask them to help my gofundme. And Kayla and I will still be able to do our vlog. Maybe have a different schedule. We’ll figure it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m glad you’ve thought of all these things. Talk to your mom about it, and then maybe we’ll go out to lunch after yoga. Talk about it as a family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she nodded, a small smile on her lips. “When does Mytoff get here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it, you.” He grinned as he closed the top of the grill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed and took off inside the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He followed her in. Scratch wound around her ankles, and she scooped him up. Jo was chopping a salad in the kitchen, with bright yellow and red peppers, tomatoes, cucumber, and celery. “Grill should be ready in twenty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo flashed him a smile. “Great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doorbell rang. Greg opened it up to Mycroft holding a bottle of wine. It brought him back to that first night when Mycroft had visited. When they came out as gay to each other and Greg wondered if they might do more - only for Mycroft to leave in a flurry of nervous ticks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grinned at the man, and leaned forward to kiss him. Mycroft seemed surprised but he went along with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come in.” Greg took the bottle of wine and brought it to the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri stood there with Scratch in her arms. Scratch eyed him dubiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peri, it is lovely to see you again,” Mycroft said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You as well, Mycroft,” she said. “Did you want to pet Scratch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t believe Scratch has any real fondness for me,” Mycroft said with a gracious smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure he has any real fondness for anyone, expect Peri,” Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s because he loves me,” Peri said, and nuzzled the top of the cat’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo turned from her salad making, wiping her hands on a towel. “Great to see you again, Mycroft.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The pleasure is mine.” He shook her hand. “I’ve brought a white; I hope it will go with dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure, we’re not picky around here.” It jolted Greg a bit when she said that, like she was a member of this household, and Mycroft a mere guest. But that’s how it’d been for a long time, hadn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was that how he behaved while at Jo’s house? Did he make Marcus feel like a guest?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not now.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He pulled himself from his thoughts to see Jo directing Mycroft to set the picnic table out back in the shade of the sugar maple. Scratch watched from the back door. Greg slipped past him to get outside to start the grilling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Artemis watched the goings-on from her perch in the outdoor part of the mews. Peri brought out a pitcher of lemonade and cups. In time, Greg made veggie burgers for all of them. Jo set out the salad and the side dishes - baked beans and corn on the cob. There were whole wheat buns, onions, ketchup, mustard, and pickles. Kettle chips in a basket. Peri talked to Mycroft about her French class, and they traded French phrases back and forth, which impressed Jo, whose own mother and grandmother spoke French. Mycroft’s ability to speak both Haitian French and Metropolitan French impressed and charmed the two ladies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg couldn’t stop smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end there were chunks of sweet watermelon for everyone, and Peri and Greg battled to see who could spit their seeds the furthest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo and Mycroft talked about a variety of topics, from Jo’s work at the veterinary hospital to wedding planning. Greg realized that Mycroft was the master of deflecting conversation away from him and staying on the other person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo wouldn’t be deterred. “So, is Sherlock your only sibling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thankfully,” Mycroft said. “Greg tells me you have two sisters and a younger brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, he’s a pain in the ass. I’m sure you know what that feels like,” Jo said with a big grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft let out a put-upon sigh and gave a heartfelt nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like Sherlock,” Peri said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We all like Sherlock, sweetie,” Jo said. “But big brothers and sisters know the pain of having a little sibling. Just consider yourself lucky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock was one subject that could get Mycroft talking, though. “Sherlock was particularly special. He once had us all convinced there was someone living in the walls of the house. At first we thought he was lying, of course. Food was missing from the kitchen, and he told us he’d seen a man in the kitchen eating it. Then one night our mother heard someone walking around in the walls. Sherlock told her it was the man. This went on for about two days more, and our mother kept hearing things in the walls and Sherlock insisted he’d seen the man in the kitchen eating our food again. Well, I caught Sherlock stealing the food one night, and told our mother. He told her I was stealing the food, and I…” something flickered over Mycroft’s face, but he schooled it back to pleasantness before continuing, “Anyway, she was quite upset. The next night when she heard the noises again, she called the police. Turned out to be a family of weasels, and Sherlock had been feeding them all along. His story of the man was to try and scare our mother away from finding them in the walls. He was only four.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it, are you kidding me?” Jo cried out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s so cool,” said Peri in an astonished voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t get any ideas,” Greg pointed at his daughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forget you, dad, if anyone was going to feed animals living in the walls it would be you, and it would be something crazy like raccoons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, fair point,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does Sherlock date?” Jo asked. “I have this quirky friend who is super brilliant, and she’s looking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, well. Sherlock is a very insular person. He doesn’t ‘date,’ as far as I know. At least, not while I’m visiting. When he’s dallied in the past, he’s tended toward the male gender.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both of you?” Jo asked. “Oh, I’m sorry, that was rude of me. Shit. Ignore me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom, I can’t believe you,” Peri said between licking watermelon juice from her fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled. “I think Sherlock would be more likely to consider female companionship before I would, if he were to consider it at all at this point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hm. He used to think of himself as a lost cause; wonder if he thinks the same of Sherlock.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It will certainly take someone special to spark his interest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, then. Well, I’ll tell her I tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, you were talking about Molly, weren’t you?” Greg turned to Jo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, you’re slow sometimes,” Peri giggled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop that. And don’t eat the seeds, or a watermelon will grow in your stomach.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dad</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo waved her hand at Greg. “You weren’t supposed to point it out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying...this obsession isn’t healthy, and she could do so much better!” He turned to Mycroft. “I don’t mean better than your brother, I just mean that she could do better than someone who isn’t interested in her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if I tell her he’s gay, maybe she’ll finally move on,” Jo insisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s healthy, the way we’re all up in each other’s business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s family,” Peri said offhandedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg looked at her. Then he looked at Mycroft, who was watching him with an amused smile on his face. “I believe she’s correct,” Mycroft said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg grinned. Mycroft had been a little nervous, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Greg,” Jo said. “I have a role for you in the wedding.” Her eyes sparkled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg lifted his chin. “Oh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Marcus and I would appreciate it if you would be a reader.” She took out a folded page from her pocketbook hanging off the back of her chair. “This is our favorite poem. I’d like you to read it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg unfolded the paper and glanced at the title. “A selection from Kahlil Gibran’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>On Love</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” he asked. “That’s a heavy one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. But...love is sort of a heavy thing, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re telling me.” He hoped no one noticed his cheeks flaming after he let that slip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I read it?” Mycroft asked. “Or, would you read it aloud?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, read it,” Peri said. “You need to practice anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg cleared his throat, and began reading from the page:</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p> <em><span>Love has no other desire but to fulfil</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>itself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <em><span>But if you love and must needs have</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>desires, let these be your desires:</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <em><span>to melt and be like a running brook</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>that sings its melody to the night.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <em><span>To know the pain of too much tenderness.</span></em></p><p> <em><span>To be wounded by your own under-</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>standing of love;</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <em><span>And to bleed willingly and joyfully.</span></em></p><p> <em><span>To wake at dawn with a winged heart</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and give thanks for another day of loving;</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <em><span>To rest at the noon hour and meditate</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>love’s ecstasy;</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <em><span>To return home at eventide with grati-</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>tude;</span>
  </em>
</p><p> <em><span>And then to sleep with a prayer for the</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>beloved in your heart and a song of praise</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>upon your lips.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He folded the paper and looked up at Jo, knowing his eyes must have been glimmering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it’s a bit serious,” began Jo, “But -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. I’ll do it. Anything for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw dad, you’re crying.” Peri handed him a napkin. “You’re getting soft in your old age.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, be nice to your elders.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry. I’ll pick out a good nursing home for you.” She patted his arm. Jo giggled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg huffed through his nose and wiped his eyes with the napkin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft placed a hand on his thigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, this is my daughter and my baby mama who’s marrying another man,” he said. Jo reached over the table to shove his shoulder, but she laughed as she did. “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re perfect,” Mycroft grinned - which Greg realized, was a rare, and beautiful thing.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Like the Wild Geese</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Part II</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>September heralds the start of the great raptor migration in New England. If you gather on certain hilly sites, you can watch everything from majestic eagles and quick-diving peregrine falcons to the tiny but mighty merlins pass over, making use of daytime wind thermals and tailwinds to help hurry their journey along. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>In their absence, we get to see the snowy owl, a beautiful white-feathered bird that summers in Canada. We might also have the chance to see the rough-legged hawk with its white blazes and streaks. Point is, sometimes, something moving on - even for just a period of time - makes room for other things in its wake. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Greg would have liked to say it was all sunshine and roses for the rest of the summer, but that’s not how a relationship between two people works. Sometimes they argued. They made up with kisses and whispered promises, hand squeezes and nuzzling of noses along necks and jaws. Some weekends they spent in bed. Others, they went out - at Mystic Aquarium, Greg discovered that Mycroft was just as fascinated by fish as he was by birds. The New York Botanical Gardens revealed that Mycroft had a wealth of knowledge on the history of horticulture, and poisonous plants. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>It was an obsession for Sherlock when he was a boy, and so together we learned all about plant poisons and their uses throughout history</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” On their first visit to an art museum, Greg found he could listen to Mycroft talk about different philosophies and movements in art for hours. A visit to the Elephant’s Trunk Flea Market revealed they often shared the same tastes in antique furnishings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>August waned, and Mycroft’s impending absence weighed heavy on Greg, who found himself talking about the fun activities of a New England fall at random intervals, as if he needed to let Mycroft know - there were more reasons than just Greg to stay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In September, the big thing is the Big E.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Big E?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eastern States Expo, or something like that. Amazing food vendors. Lots to see. Farm animals. Buildings full of ridiculous shit to buy that no one needs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft laughed. “You make it sound so charming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh, it’s probably not your thing,” Greg chuckled. “Huge crowds. Peri and I usually go, and we wait in the longest line for a Maine baked potato, when we can get the real thing just by visiting family there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Somehow I think you two find the line preferable.” Mycroft’s eyes danced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha! Very true.” Greg hadn’t contacted either his brother or mother since leaving Maine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do love to see new places and explore, don’t you? As well as revisit places you love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, always wanted to do more traveling. I really thought I would see the whole world someday. Always wanted to when I was growing up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mother’s voice echoed in his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And what have you seen? The upper and lower parts of New England?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where would you go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?” Greg didn’t have to think long. It curled up inside of him, a little secret that he hadn’t even told Jo or Damien. “Oh. I once knew this guy who described Costa Rica. He was from there. It sounded amazing, with the rainforest and the volcano and the beaches. I think I’d go there first.” It had been so long an idea, that it didn’t seem real, just a happy wish to take out and look at now and then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I hope to one day bring you there,” Mycroft said as he pulled Greg close to him. “Perhaps next summer. A vacation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg buried his face into Mycroft’s chest. “Okay. I think. That would be amazing.” His heart pounded in his ears.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The words he’d been dreading finally came. “I’ll be leaving the day after your Labor Day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg frowned. “Okay.” He sighed with a heavy show of his shoulders. “I’ll miss you. And you’re gonna miss amazing New England fall fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you.” Mycroft wrapped an arm around him. “You’ll send me photos, of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but you can’t taste pumpkin spice through photos.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I’ll pass on that,” Mycroft said and wrinkled his nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg laughed. Then sobered. “Fall’s amazing. The leaves lose their chlorophyll and we see their real colors. Birds migrate. Then there’s all the pumpkin picking and carving, apple picking, peach picking -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sensing a theme.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg hugged him. “You’re catching on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A harvest time, of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A harvest time,” Greg agreed. “One of Molly’s pagan friends throws a big bonfire on the Fall Equinox. It’s a lot of fun. Good people. And we have a staff Pumpkin Carving Contest in October. There’s the Trail of Terror that Peri and I do every year.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trail of Terror?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Best haunted trail out there, hands down. It takes forty-five minutes to get through the whole of it, and it is so worth the money.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goodness. That sounds...intense.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very.” Greg bumped his shoulder. “How about you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we have some fall colors. I will mostly be in my office, likely catching up on everything my team has lagged on in my absence.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you had faith in your team to perform in your absence?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have faith in my PA to keep a lid on anything that might go wrong. But I will need to fix mistakes made, and apply the whip to those projects that have fallen behind on schedule.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m also overseeing the training of new recruits,” he said. “I will have much to do, I’m afraid. Won’t even have that much time for texting and Skyping at first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll figure it out,” Greg said in a soft tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” But Mycroft didn’t seem as certain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg didn’t poke at it. What they had suddenly seemed as fragile as a spider’s thread.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Greg stood outside the cage of the screech owls. Teeny and Tiny sat in their respective corners on boughs of fake evergreen. Every now and again one of them opened an eye and gave him a dubious stare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock appeared beside him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sherlock. Hi.” Greg tried to pretend he wasn’t startled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi.” The thin man stared at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything I can do for you?” Greg said. Sherlock only sought him out when he needed something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mycroft doesn’t do relationships,” Sherlock stated. “He might, on occasion, entertain a man for an evening, but aside from Arthur Baxley, he has never tended toward attachments with any kind of longevity.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, that was a mood-dampener. “Hm. Well, marriage, or a civil partnership, is a big deal. And from what I heard, it wasn’t a great one. That can make people wary.” Greg rolled his shoulders back. “Plus, he’s a very busy man, as I understand it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock said as he kept staring. His eerie gaze began to grate on Greg.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sherlock. Is there something I can help you with?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are an attractive man. Symmetrical features, rugged physical frame, and generally tolerable personality.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg almost laughed. “Thanks, you really know how to butter someone up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mycroft has barely interfered with me all summer. It’s perplexing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t think you wanted him bothering you,” Greg said, the edge of a challenge in his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t. I must say this turn of events has worked out in my favor.” Sherlock shifted his gaze to the owls. “Though, he was meant to leave on July 30th. So, it hasn’t worked out entirely in my favor, but I’ll take it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Greg jerked. “He was supposed to leave on the thirtieth?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He didn’t tell you he extended his stay?” Sherlock’s mouth twitched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg’s heart did a little somersault. “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock’s lips twisted. “Interesting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg realized that as cryptic as Sherlock was trying to be, he was, in his own strange way, helping. “Thanks. You might actually be an okay guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock scowled. “Well, you didn’t have to ruin the moment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg laughed. He caught Sherlock’s smile before he walked away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiny winked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Greg waited for the other shoe to drop. Mycroft’s leaving was bad enough, but it didn’t seem possible that he would extend his stay just for Greg. Something had to go wrong. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the shoe dropped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to leave for England this Friday,” Mycroft said. He stared out the back door onto Greg’s small yard, closed in by cedars and blueberry bushes and raspberry brambles, and the one sprawling maple. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg almost dropped the dinner dish he was drying. “What?” It wasn’t Labor Day for another week. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s...well, there’s an issue that has been brought to my attention that needs my personal touch. It requires face to face meetings. I can’t ignore it.” Mycroft slid his hands into his pants pockets and cast his gaze to the floor. “It’s imperative that I be there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But...I thought…” Greg’s stomach grew heavy with a sick feeling. He put the plate in the drying rack with a painstaking slowness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. I thought I’d have longer, but I didn’t anticipate this. It’s my error. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t disappoint me.” Greg moved to take Mycroft in his arms. “You don’t. I suppose your job disappoints me at the moment, but this is what we signed up for, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft sighed and laid his head on Greg’s shoulder. “It isn’t fair. I wish I could roll you up and place you in my suitcase.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft didn’t usually make such statements. Greg buried his face into the man’s neck. “I wish I could do that, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What you do here is remarkable, you know. The life you’ve built. The family you’ve found and made.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. It is. I should just be happy and grateful for it, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft leaned back and cupped his face. “You are, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg exhaled. “Of course. I guess, I’d just like to see more of the world, and I’d like to share it with someone. And I want that someone to be you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft kissed him on the mouth. “Someday,” he said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Someday,” Greg agreed, his stomach twisting and his heart squeezing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft whispered in his ear: </span>
  <em>
    <span>“‘Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - over and over announcing your place in the family of things.’”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They spent the evening in each other’s arms, watching </span>
  <em>
    <span>Schitt's Creek</span>
  </em>
  <span> and eating popcorn. Greg called out of work the next day. They flew Artemis over the field, ordered pizza for lunch, stayed in bed for the afternoon while watching YouTube videos of funny things that happened over CCTV on London streets. In the evening, Greg introduced Mycroft to s’mores.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How does one stop the marshmallow from dripping over the edges?” Greg laughed at the sight of Mycroft holding his s’more with his pinkies out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s an art,” he said. He bit into his, the familiar crunch of sweetened graham cracker sounding in his mouth. He sighed as his tongue met with the delicious flavor of warmed dark chocolate and melted marshmallow. “Mmm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft watched him, and Greg could see his eyes darken as he licked his fingers clean of the strings of chocolate and marshmallow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“An art, mm?” he said with a rough voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Greg grinned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I’d rather taste it from your mouth.” Mycroft leaned forward and kissed Greg. Greg managed to swallow the bite before he returned the kiss, sharing the tantalizing taste of the sugary flavors. When they parted, Mycroft said, “Yes, I can see what the fuss is all about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I have to say I don’t share s’mores that way with most people,” Greg said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad to hear it,” Mycroft purred. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were sitting outside, enjoying a small campfire. Greg had placed small bars of a high quality dark chocolate on a flat stone so that the chocolate would be warmed by the flames without melting too much. S’mores were his campfire specialty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t long before they fell into bed together, Greg rocking inside of Mycroft, limbs entangled, a sheen of sweat on their backs and across their naked chests. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When it was over, they held each other quietly. Mycroft stroked his hair. “Listen. I could...I could go for two weeks, and I could come back. For a week. Then I’d have to go again, and I’ll be back for Thanksgiving...I wasn’t going to mention it before because I thought maybe it would be silly to come back for only one week...but Thanksgiving is only one week, too. And I want all that time with you. I’d come back for one week, for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg squeezed him. “Do it. Please. Come back. Even if it’s just one week. Jesus, Mycroft, if I had the time and the money I’d be in England every weekend.” His throat tightened at the thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mycroft squeezed him back. “God, Greg, I can’t believe I’m going to have to leave you behind. This summer, this summer has been truly one of the most remarkable periods of my life. I don’t want it to ever end - I wish we could stay like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Greg kissed him, again and again, pouring all his thoughts and the tremendous welling of love into the kisses. It wasn’t long after that they succumbed to a bittersweet exhaustion, limbs slack and Greg’s head on Mycroft’s chest, lulled to sleep by the beating of his lover’s heart.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Felling Trees</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Remember: in the middle of a forest, when a tree is cut or struck down, the resulting stump is supported by the network of roots and fungus below the surface. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Life is here.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It sucks,” Greg said. “We had this summer together. Two trips. Spoiled. We were spoiled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly, Sammy, and Greg were blazing the trails. It only took one person to do the job, but it was nicer to walk with friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And he’s back next week?” Molly held the stencil cut-out of a vertical rectangle against the trunk of a swamp maple. Greg applied a layer of blue paint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep,” Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I could ever do a long distance relationship like that,” Sammy said, rocking back on his heels. “I can barely do the one I’m doing now. Sometimes it feels like a long distance relationship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg was tempted to say something unkind, but he reminded himself that Sammy was in love with Andy. Believed Andy would one day leave his wife for him. Believed Andy was truly gay and coming to terms with it, while long married with three kids. He reset his thoughts on it before saying, “How’s that going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy looked at him in surprise. “Well, uh. It sort of sucks. I know he’s still sleeping with her. He told me he was leaving. Said he’d do it after the holidays. Look for a new place in spring for himself. But, I don’t know that I believe him, now that I know they’re still having sex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oof,” Greg said, gritting his teeth. “I don’t know how you deal with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy leaned his head up toward the sky. The sun gave his brown skin a warm, golden glow. “I didn’t really expect to end up in this situation. We were just supposed to be friends. I didn’t expect for it to turn into more.” He whistled. “Maybe I’m just kidding myself, and he’s never going to leave her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, wouldn’t she get suspicious if he didn’t want to have sex with her?” Molly asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I suppose. But, I think I’m past...caring whether or not she knows. I kind of want her to know. I know that’s not fair of me. Andy’s got to come out when he can come out. I don’t want to force him. But...I’m not sure I can take it much longer.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg roped in all his hard feelings about cheating. “Well, you know Sammy, he’s put you and her in weird places. He can have his cake and eat it. Have you thought of withholding, yourself? I mean, you want commitment from him, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy looked at him as if he expected Greg to start yelling. Molly watched, a little furrow of concern above her nose. Greg glanced away from them. Then back at Sammy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m...I’m saying this as your friend. Or someone who wants to be your friend, if we haven’t made it that far yet. I can see that what he’s doing is hurting you, and you’re kind of blaming the wife...but when do you stand up to him for using you? I get that he can’t just come out, that he’s dealing with it, and trying to come to terms with it. That’s him. But what are you going to do? Wait him out? What if it never comes? What if his wife does find out and the whole thing gets so ugly he wants nothing to do with you?” Greg shook his head. “I think you might be sitting on a time bomb, and I’d hate to see you get hurt - hurt more, I mean.”</span>
</p><p><span>He could sense Molly shifting beside him. No doubt she had some opinions on his little outburst, but he held his gaze with Sammy. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Sammy scowled and jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He stared off through the woods.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Sammy, I want to see you happy,” Greg said. “I really do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy lifted one shoulder. “Yeah. Thanks.” He kicked a small branch laying in the path. “I just wish I could be happy with him, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Greg said. He stuck the paintbrush in the bucket. “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They kept walking, and talked of lighter things. Greg didn’t miss it when Molly touched Sammy’s arm and squeezed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thoughts turned to Mycroft, especially as the sun waned and tendrils of orange light curled through the forest leaves, like the light ginger of Mycroft’s beard.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, you removed the beard!” Greg shouted when he opened the door to Mycroft. His cheeks and chin were the pale hairlessness that Greg recalled from their first month of knowing one another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it was more appropriate for work functions, or so Mummy thought.” He rolled his eyes and at the same time, they collapsed into a tight embrace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg breathed him in, swallowed around a lump in his throat, held him tighter, and marveled at how well they fit together, how much their limbs seemed to mold about each other with a warm precision, as satisfying as setting puzzle pieces together. He buried his head into Mycroft’s neck. “God I missed you,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed you, Greg,” Mycroft whispered back. “So intensely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg stood back and pulled Mycroft inside. “Jesus, two weeks was a long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And now after this visit, we will have to wait two months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s heart hurt to think about it. He forced a smile on his face. “More naked Skyping, obviously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s laughter was warm and musical. Greg leaned in and kissed him, missing the brush of his beard, but he cupped Mycroft’s face and ran a finger over the smooth skin. “You are a beautiful man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft pulled away from him, giving him a puff of laughter. “If you say so.”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, and I’m an expert. I’ve been admiring beautiful men my entire life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled and kissed him again. “I nearly forgot how precious it is, to be loved by you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In just two weeks? Nah. Don’t say that. I’ll have to help you remember.” They kissed again and again. It wasn’t long before they stumbled to the sofa and shoved their clothes off. They kissed skin and explored and reconnected. Greg mapped out his favorite freckled areas, tasted them, reacquainting himself with Mycroft’s responses and sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg had almost forgotten the spicy scent of his cologne, the warm skin and the dusting of hairs across his chest. It was a homecoming, this shoving together of limbs and erections and devouring mouths. Having no Mycroft for two weeks had been hellish, his every molecule pulled toward the man, nearly every thought wrapped up in him. Spasms of lust flashed through his body as he straddled Mycroft, tongue-fucked his mouth, rubbed their cocks together. Mycroft licked his own hand, and wrapped it around their dicks. Greg groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, like that,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to last long,” Mycroft gasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither, it’s fine. We can make it last later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Lord,” Mycroft said and pumped their cocks together. He slid one hand around Greg’s rump, and traced his fingers over his cleft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Oh god!” Greg’s orgasm burst through him, rippling outward from the base of his cock. He nestled his head into the side of Mycroft’s neck and moved his hand to cover Mycroft’s over his cock. Mycroft was using his come to ease the way as he fucked into his fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so good for me. Come for me,” Greg said as he kissed the crest of Mycroft’s clavicle. “I want to see you get dirty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft went still, rigid, as his cock spurted and a long, ragged moan escaped his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s it,” Greg said. “Good god, Mycroft.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was intense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg laughed and kissed him on the mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg stood in the doorway, fidgeting with the fresh-cut, metal key in his pocket. The edge was still sharp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft sprawled on one end of the sofa, snoozing. Scratch lay next to him, with his chin on Mycroft’s thigh, and his eyes closed in a blissed out picture of repose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he sat on the sofa, Mycroft stirred. “Oh, sorry. I had a very tiring trip.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand,” Greg smiled. “Seems like you’ve made a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s answering smile was soft and pulled at Greg’s heart. “I think we’ve come to an understanding.” He scratched the underside of the cat’s chin. The purrs echoed in the quiet of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg made a throat clearing sound and brought his hand out of his pocket to show Mycroft the bronze-colored key.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here’s your house key.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pressed it to Mycroft’s hand. “Listen. I...I know you’re only staying for a week, but I want you to take this key with you. It’s yours. It would mean a lot to me if you keep this, and think of my home as a place you can always come back to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft closed his hand around the key and Greg’s fingers. “I shall treasure it as I treasure you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pressed his lips to his in a quick peck. “Now, let’s go upstairs and tire you out again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft burst into laughter. Scratch hopped from the couch, and blasted them with a glare. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>A car engine purred into the driveway and cut off. Greg smiled, content on the sofa. It seemed Mycroft was back from his errands early.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sharp staccato of rapping at the door alarmed both he and Scratch, who hopped off Greg’s lap, but not before leaving a burning gouge on his thigh in his panic. Greg swore, and stood. The scratch still smarted as he turned off the television, and answered the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On his front step was a tall woman with a severe face, hair pulled back in a steel grey bun. Her eyes were a sharp, forbidding blue that swept from his face to his feet and back. Behind her stood a red faced, white haired man, also tall, with broad shoulders and white hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you Greg Lestrade?” The woman asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help you?” Greg asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes narrowed. “I’m Lavinia Holmes. This is my husband, Augustus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg tried to keep his face from showing his surprise. “Mycroft isn’t here right now, if you’re looking for him. Are you his parents?” It’d been three days. Three days of bliss, and kissing, and sex, and lazing about with Netflix and old movies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t even tell you our names?” She tossed a look back at her husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm.” This seemed to satisfy her. “Well, we’re here to speak with you on Mycroft’s behalf, Mr. Lestrade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg is fine. What about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May we come in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg hesitated. This was clearly not going to be a good conversation, but being rude to Mycroft’s parents was the last thing he wanted to do. “Please come in.” He thought about texting Mycroft, but he wanted to be a good host. “Can I get you something to drink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lavinia Holmes scanned the living room with the look of someone assessing auction items and finding them wanting. She pursed her lips at Greg when her eyes finally rested on him. “You are a very good looking man, and I can understand why my son might have set his sights on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, thank you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clearly, you are no match for his intellect - no one is. I imagine the relationship is very physical.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?” His cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh please, let’s be honest, here, Mr. Lestrade. No one dates my son. No one is interested, and if he were to be serious with someone, he would choose someone of an appropriate social standing, not some...whatever it is you are - naturalist, is it? From the States. And, Mycroft knows he can’t choose a man, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s all up to Mycroft -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, is it money? Because I won’t have some playboy gold-digger -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop!” Greg said. “What are you - ? I don’t care about Mycroft’s money!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Augustus Holmes folded his arms and leveled Greg with a stare. “No need to shout.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Lestrade, the point is, my son has an illustrious career set before him, and he can’t risk it by choosing an unworthy partner,” Lavinia said. “Just look at the two of you together. Certainly you can see it? And if you love my son, which you will no doubt tell me you do, don’t you want what’s best for him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg stared at her. She was being honest. She honestly felt this way, her eyes wide and imploring, her thin lips painted with a matte red lipstick. “Mycroft seems very happy with his current career. What’s changing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, he’s set to become an MP! And in several years, he could become the British Prime Minister!” Her eyes lit up like stars. “He’s exactly what the country needs. He’s so bright; you know it. And I’ve been speaking to his supporters, garnering funds for his campaign; he’ll be a rising star!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He hasn’t mentioned anything like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, we’ve discussed it at length. I told him he’d have to clean out any skeletons in his closet, of course. That’s when he mentioned you. A current skeleton. I’ve talked with his campaign manager, and she agrees that what would be best here is an immediate termination of the relationship. He’s already publicly courting a wonderful woman who will make a fantastic match.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gut roiled with a mixture of anger and confusion. And a woman? Mycroft was </span>
  <em>
    <span>courting</span>
  </em>
  <span> a woman? “I don’t know what planet you live on, lady, but Mycroft and I love each other,” Greg said. “I’ll be talking to him about our relationship later. It’s not your business, or any bloody campaign manager’s, either.” He delighted in seeing the horror struck look on her face by throwing out the British swear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Augustus leaned forward. “That’s no way to speak to us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right. So why don’t you leave? Perhaps we can meet again later under better conditions.” Greg’s stomach turned while he clenched his teeth. “And the two of you can try being polite instead of whatever you call this attack on my character.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to have character first before anyone can attack it,” Lavinia said in a steely tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome to leave, now. I’ll tell Mycroft that you dropped by.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled at him, a predator’s smile. “Of course. But do be sure to pass on a message from Alicia. She misses him, and can’t wait to accompany him at the mayor’s ball next weekend. Also, she had a lovely time in London with him, and thanks him for hosting her in his flat over the weekend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg balled his fists and tried to even out his breathing. A cold sickness vined his way through his stomach. He stomped to the door. Opened it. Gestured for them to leave. “Of course. Goodbye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Augustus and Lavinia rose. Lavinia stalked past him with glowering eyes and an imperious frown, and Augustus with a look of raging disapproval, right on his wife’s heels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg looked at Scratch. “What. The ever-loving fuck. Was that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scratch hopped up on the windowsill to watch them walk down the path. His eyes met Greg’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, right?” Greg quivered with a low boiling rage in his gut. What woman? Was Mycroft seriously entertaining all this? Was he planning to break it off with Greg at the end of the week? Or was he going to string Greg along for as long as he could keep him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he told his parents - and his </span>
  <em>
    <span>campaign manager</span>
  </em>
  <span> about them. A skeleton in his closet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paced the living room. Sat on the sofa and tried to put Netflix back on to distract him. Kept thinking about it. Should he text Mycroft? Talk to Jo? Molly?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck no, not Damien. Damien wouldn’t be helpful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he wasn’t looking for helpful. He was looking for validation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which Damien would provide in spades.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dialed his number.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey man, what’s up?” came Damien’s throaty voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, you will not believe what just happened.” He relayed the story of meeting Mycroft’s parents, and their demands and Lavinia’s insinuations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit. That sounds like the far left field of crazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what they say: don’t stick your dick in crazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not fucking the parents, Damien.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it must have. I get now why Sherlock and Mycroft are the way they are. I mean, supposedly Sherlock lives here because he was such a social embarrassment over there, he’s in some kind of exile. Mycroft implied Sherlock prefers it here, anyhow. And I see why.” Greg flopped onto the sofa. “I mean, if that was my mother? Jesus Christ, you’ve heard me talk about my mom. This woman’s a nightmare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And who’s this chick Alicia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s stomach turned cold. Even if this Alicia was a beard, she’d be attending these big parties with Mycroft. Touching his arm, posing for photos. Smiling while she was escorted around and on the arm of his Mycroft. “Mycroft is gay, man,” he said. He bit his lip as he hoped Damien wouldn’t guess what he was thinking. “This is probably some friend of his, and his mother used her to try and get under my skin.” Yeah. That was probably it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. But I thought Mycroft didn’t have friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure he has a few, and he just doesn’t consider them close. You saw him that weekend. He’s a giant introvert.” Right. How many parties would Mycroft attend with her?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With women spending weekends in his flat and accompanying him to mayor balls?” Damien asked. “Sounds kinky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not helping.” His stomach had turned to ice. He bent over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. You know I just look out for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And you used to want me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It occurred to Greg that Damien never liked any of his boyfriends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made a small noise in his throat. “Anyway, I told you, Mycroft and I have decided to make it serious. To do this long-distance thing. And I think his mom is trying to ruin it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hope Mycroft sees through it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why wouldn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, man. Seems kind of like a mama’s boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg bit his lower lip and sucked. He leaned back, stretched his legs out before him and cradled the back of his head on his forearm. “Well, we all love our mothers no matter how shitty they are, don’t we?” Brigitte Lestrade was no shining example of motherhood to him, but she was still his mother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, true. Just...take care of yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, Take care of yourself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t be a doormat, just like you were for Jack, right?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. I will. How’s Mario?” Desperate for a change of topic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His parents live in Costa Rica, so I don’t have to deal with any in-law types. He sends them money and they stay there. It’s perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re kind of a dick, sometimes,” Greg said with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We all have our parts. Some are bigger than others.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, I’m getting off the phone with you now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien laughed. “You love me, man. Anyway, perfect timing. Mario will be home soon, and I love a little appetizer before dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gross. Have a good night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will. You get your answers from Mycroft.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg let out a heavy sigh as he crossed one arm over his stomach. “Yeah. Will do. Bye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg grabbed the remote and flipped it around in his hand. Scratch sat on the opposite arm of the sofa, watching his movements. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. Mycroft won’t be here for another hour, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In that time, Greg’s mind spun like a top pivoting in different directions until it loses steam and clatters to its side, ricocheting off of other objects in its path until it finally comes to a stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft had been tight-lipped about his history, even a dead husband. He hid things. He promised to lay out all his cards with Greg, but this? Running for MP? This was a big deal. He never said anything like “Listen, I’ve been thinking…” And if they were going to be partners, wasn’t this something he would have mentioned before leaving for England?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if he changed his mind? What if he decided to take this political track, where, according to Lavinia Holmes, he couldn’t be in a relationship with an American man?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And how could Greg even measure up to the men he’d meet in the circles he entered?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just who was this woman that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>publicly courting?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>White noise burbled in his ears. Panic settled in his gut like a cold ball of ice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be fine. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be fine. He just couldn’t lose his cool. He would ask Mycroft, and he would listen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was the sound of a key in the doorknob. Scratch’s ears pricked up and Greg swung off the sofa to stand and watch Mycroft step in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled at him, take-out bags in his arms. “Surprise. I picked us up Chinese.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile faded as he took in Greg’s appearance. “What is it? What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. A Gap in the Canopy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm so sorry to have not responded to comments on the past couple chapters - I promise I read and treasure every one. It has been so gratifying to see people engaged with these characters and this story - thank you all. I promise to respond soon. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> In ecology, we often use the term disturbance: a natural or human-made interruption in the day-to-day ecological processes in a habitat. A disturbance might be a forest fire, a weather event, an insect swarm, a logging operation, or a blight.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When this happens in the forest, it can create an opening in the canopy as trees are felled. But forests are resilient: pioneer plants will take their place - small herbs, woody shrubs, and finally, the growth of saplings, until the gap created in the forest is filled once again, years later.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The issue? What happens when a forest loses its resiliency, such as the overbrowsing of deer that might allow invasive species of plants to take root as opposed to the next generation of native trees? The forest begins to take on a very different character - one that might not be recognizable down the line. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> With remediation and restoration, with a build-up of ecological resilience, the forest can remain a constant, and can renew itself, again and again and again. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Nothing. I, uh, was asleep on the sofa and the key in the door scared me. I forgot I gave you one.” Greg emitted what he hoped sounded like a sheepish laugh. “Let’s just get the food ready. I’m starving.”</p><p>He was not starving. Instead, his stomach was knotted and roiling with the slick feeling of doubt. </p><p>
  <em> Jack entertained guests. Jack even went on dates with other guys. Lied to you about it all along, and you were living together. </em>
</p><p>He went into the kitchen and got out the plates. “Come on, have a seat. I got some fresh cucumber water - cucumbers and mint from Molly’s garden.”</p><p>“Sounds refreshing,” Mycroft said. Greg could feel him peering closely. He got out the reusable chopsticks and placed them on the counter.</p><p>They sat. </p><p>Mycroft watched him as they opened the containers. “What did you do while I was out?”</p><p>“I was watching Netflix, and then I fell asleep.”</p><p>“While watching Netflix?”</p><p>“I turned it off. The sound was keeping me from my nap.” Greg dished out some hot tofu with steamed veggies onto his plate to join the brown rice. “I talked to Damien today. He’s still with Mario.”</p><p>“Wonderful,” Mycroft said as he picked up a set of chopsticks and chased a mushroom on his plate. “And they’re doing well?”</p><p>“Yeah. I still can’t believe he’s serious about him. I’ve never seen him serious about anybody.”</p><p>“Mm.”</p><p><em> Maybe, if I just give him time...a chance to talk about it. </em>“So, have anything exciting to get back to in London?”</p><p>Mycroft’s eyes snapped to his. “Exciting? I will be focusing on catching up on quite a bit of work, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“Oh. No friends to see?”</p><p>Mycroft frowned at him. “I don’t really have friends as much as I have work acquaintances. I suppose that’s considered quite pitiful, but I enjoy the time alone outside of work. I’ve...explained this.”</p><p>“Yeah. Right.”</p><p>“Greg. What is it?” Mycroft set his chopsticks down.</p><p>“Did you get to see your parents while you were home?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And, did you tell them about me?”</p><p>Mycroft seemed to be considering him. “I did.”</p><p>A tiny bit of relief. “How’d they take it?”</p><p>Mycroft’s mouth twisted. “They’re not wholly welcoming to the idea.” He fiddled with the edge of his plate. “But, then, they are rather old-fashioned that way.”</p><p>
  <em> I’ll say. </em>
</p><p>“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” <em>Like how you’ll apparently be campaigning to become an MP?</em> <em>Or are your parents entirely batshit crazy?</em></p><p>
  <em> Are you cheating on me? Or are you going to? Will you be using some woman as a beard the whole time too? </em>
</p><p>“Greg, what’s happened?” Mycroft put his hand on the sofa, flat, close to Greg’s. “You seem very preoccupied with my time back home.”</p><p>
  <em> Home. </em>
</p><p>“I’ve learned that you are considering a political position,” Greg said quietly, his heart beating wildly. “And that our relationship may be a hindrance to your campaign.”</p><p>Mycroft’s jaw dropped. “How did you learn - how did you hear of this?”</p><p>“So it’s true, then?” Greg sagged against the sofa. His ribs closed in tight around his heart. “You’re running?”</p><p>“I’ve not made any such decision -”</p><p>“But you’re thinking about it!”</p><p>“Did you speak with Sherlock?” Mycroft stood from the sofa.</p><p>“Does it matter?”</p><p>His jaw worked. “Even if I were running for office, Greg, which I haven’t decided upon, don’t you think I would tell you about it when I thought it pertinent to do so?”</p><p>Greg’s insides spasmed and the world around him seemed to capsize and shrink to a singular point between them. “Why wouldn’t you tell me about it first?”</p><p>Mycroft’s face fell. “Nothing is set in stone. And I can’t make the decision if I’m unduly influenced.”</p><p>“By me?”</p><p>“Of course!”</p><p>“Is this...is this something you’ve been considering for a long time?” Greg thought back to all of Mycroft’s comments about being groomed for government. He’d thought Mycroft would remain a civil servant - he didn’t think the man would become a politician. And even if he did, he wasn’t sure how the British public would view a gay man. Lavinia Holmes seemed to think it was a death knell.</p><p>“It is something that has lingered in the back of my mind.”</p><p>“Then why would you start something with me?”</p><p>“Greg! It was supposed to be casual, was it not?” Mycroft seemed angry again. </p><p>“And that’s my fault?” It was getting hard to breathe.</p><p>Mycroft made a noise of distress. “Of course not, I’m merely pointing out that our relationship wasn’t planned.” He rubbed his hand over his head. “Greg. I must ask. Who gave you this information?”</p><p>Greg chewed the inside of his cheek. “I had the pleasure of meeting your parents today.”</p><p>Mycroft paled. Visibly turned white. “How?”</p><p>“They stopped in.”</p><p>Mycroft raised his hands; dropped them. And then he stalked over to the counter where his phone lay. He stabbed the screen a couple times with his thumbs and held it to his ear. “Pick up. Pick up.”</p><p>Greg watched all this with surprise. He still hadn’t had a chance to ask about the unknown Alicia.</p><p>Unknown to him, anyway. </p><p>Mycroft put the phone down. His hands were on his hips and he seemed to be grinding his teeth. The phone vibrated. He snatched it up and read the screen. “He knew,” he whispered.</p><p>“Who are you talking to? Or about?” <em> Is it his parents? </em></p><p>
  <em> Alicia? </em>
</p><p>White hot jealousy clouded his mind and flared through his body. His blood rushed with the thought of <em> mine </em> and <em> threat </em> and <em> danger. </em> Teeth-sharp and tongue-heavy, he waited for Mycroft to answer him. </p><p>It didn’t feel any better when Mycroft didn’t answer him.</p><p>Mycroft held the phone to his ear again. “Pick up.” The person must have picked up because Mycroft said, “Are they there now?” A pause. “How could you not tell me?” he hissed. </p><p>
  <em> Sherlock? </em>
</p><p>“Of course they stopped by Greg’s. How dare you -”</p><p>Mycroft pulled back and looked at his phone. “That cretin hung up on me.”</p><p>“I can’t believe your parents are here and they didn’t tell you,” Greg said, trying to calm the loud pounding of his heart and the pulse in his head that heralded an impending headache.</p><p>“Yes.” Mycroft sank into his kitchen chair, his gaze in the distance.</p><p>“Mycroft. What does this...what does this mean for us?”</p><p>Mycroft snapped his attention to Greg. It was like being hit with lightning sometimes, when the man’s eyes lit upon a person. “I’m very good at prediction. I know I can win this seat. I know how to run a campaign better than the campaign manager they’ve consulted.” He scoffed. “But it’s not what I want. And, I’ve been offered a promotion where I currently am positioned.”</p><p>Greg’s heart lifted hearing that. “You have?” <em> Again, why wouldn’t you tell me? </em></p><p>Mycroft sighed and looked away. “It does change some things. For starters, I can’t visit for Thanksgiving. I can’t make a trip to the United States while learning to work with a new team.”</p><p>Greg’s heart fell into his stomach. “Okay. And Christmas?”</p><p>Mycroft was staring again. “You’re certainly welcome to visit.”. </p><p>The white hot anger came back again. “I’m certainly welcome to visit?”</p><p>“We weren’t meant to have this discussion yet, but as always, you surprise me.”</p><p>“This discussion that we’re having right here? This one where you tell me about your promotion and that you can’t visit for Thanksgiving, and by the way, your parents are working to set you up for a future run for MP?”</p><p>“Greg, I knew you’d be overly upset.”</p><p>The blood rushed to his face. “I’m <em> overly </em> upset?”</p><p>“Nearly.”</p><p>“Mycroft Holmes, I understand that you are the Vulcan here in this relationship, but Jesus Christ, have a little care with how you talk to me.”</p><p>Mycroft squared off at him with a stern gaze. “I only fear that I will be quite busy.”</p><p>“But not busy enough to have a friend stay at your flat for a weekend on your quick trip home?”</p><p>Mycroft blanched. “Beg your pardon?”</p><p>“Who’s Alicia? A work acquaintance? Someone who spends the night in a man’s flat and then attends the mayor’s ball with him as his date? That’s your idea of a work acquaintance?”</p><p>Mycroft stood again, and Greg stood with him. “I understand that you have issues, Greg, but if you could take care to keep them to yourself and not project them onto me -”</p><p>“Don’t you dare try that with me!” Greg knew his voice was raising, and he couldn’t seem to stop it. “That’s exactly what he did; made it seem like I was the one with the problem, and everything he did was just fine.”</p><p>Mycroft fixed him a steely stare that reminded Greg of Lavinia. “I’m not Jack, though I’m beginning to see the full extent of the damage he dealt.”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” A cold sweat broke out across his neck and below his shoulder blades.</p><p>“Admit it, if you can: I could have been anyone this summer, any suitably dressed man with good hygiene and a predilection for men, and you’d have latched on.”</p><p>The breath left Greg as his stomach curled in on itself, as if someone had punched him. Fear curled in around his rib cage and up his nape and behind his ears. </p><p>
  <em> God, what if he was right? </em>
</p><p>And, if he wasn’t right, how was Greg supposed to convince him otherwise?</p><p>Mycroft’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m right, aren’t I?” </p><p>Greg cleared his throat. Anger rose like a strike of lightning, adding to the murky swirl of fear and loss and <em> what if </em>. “If you believe that’s true, then what are you doing here?”</p><p>A look of hurt flashed across Mycroft’s face, but Greg couldn’t focus as a swell of panic and despair erupted from his gut, threatening to cut off his air supply and send a torrent of tears to his eyes.</p><p>He wouldn’t let Mycroft Holmes see it. </p><p>“You know what? No. I’ll leave.” Greg covered his eyes with one hand. “Fuck you, and enjoy being alone.” He grabbed his keys from the bowl and opened the door. He didn’t say anything as he went out the door.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg could still remember the last fight with Jack in vivid detail, though he preferred not to think about it. It’d taken him nearly six months to tell Jack to take his things and move out. He’d been a wreck leading up to that moment, and a wreck after that moment, but a wreck that had finally broken away from the source of its wrecking. </p><p>He’d been a wreck ever since then, but he was getting better.</p><p>Or so he thought.</p><p>It only took Mycroft’s conniving mother to knock him completely off kilter. He’d been so sure of him and Mycroft. So sure that he was ready to hold Mycroft’s hand through it. </p><p>But Mycroft didn’t seem to think it pertinent to mention a mayor’s ball, or a promotion, or the fact that he knew his parents had consulted a campaign manager. He didn’t think anything of inviting a woman to his flat for the weekend, and then to be his date for said ball.</p><p>Meanwhile, he’d doubted Greg’s sincerity. And he’d said that before, hadn’t he, at the Cape. When the bike pedal tore his pants. What had Greg said? He’d barely addressed it then. Just tried to help Mycroft with his bike. Accused him of being just as bad as Greg because Mycroft was changing things about himself in hopes of keeping Greg’s interest. </p><p>
  <em> You weren’t ready to face up to his doubts because that meant having to face your own doubts. </em>
</p><p>A dishonesty of another kind. </p><p><em> He wasn’t upfront about all these things </em> because <em> he doubts your sincerity. </em></p><p>Greg knew it was difficult for Mycroft to be forthcoming, but also that he was surprised by Greg’s feelings for him. Disbelieving, even. </p><p>His parents seemed to think he was definitely running for MP, but Mycroft said he was taking the promotion. Didn’t he? That’s why he couldn’t come for Thanksgiving. </p><p>
  <em> We were both angry. I just should have told him that his parents came by. That they told me some things, and I wanted to know what it all meant. I should have waited until he was calm and had cooled down.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But what if he was right? </em>
</p><p>He searched through his feelings. He’d fallen hard and fast for Mycroft, no doubt about it. He was interesting. Intelligent. Greg loved intelligence. He appreciated what Greg did for a living and listened, actually listened, when Greg talked about his work. He cared for Greg in gentle, unintrusive ways - showed affection, convinced Greg to let him pay for things like trips to museums and the AirBnB in Acadia. Held him when he turned into a mess over the disaster that was his family visit. Never asked more of him, but accepted everything Greg had to offer. Even tried new things in his attempts to keep Greg happy.</p><p>In his attempts to keep Greg.</p><p>He called Jo. She didn’t answer.</p><p>The sun was setting a little earlier each evening. He no longer heard the calls of the barred owls. Bats dove about in the air among the treetops like choppy paper airplanes. The horizon turned to a golden yellow, and the sky overhead a gentle, soothing blue. </p><p>
  <em> Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift. </em>
</p><p>He inhaled.</p><p><em> Jack gave you a box of darkness </em> . <em> Where was the gift? </em></p><p>Let it go.</p><p>Inhaled. Let it go.</p><p>A crow cawed in the trees.</p><p>Inhale. A little death. Let it go.</p><p>
  <em> He doubts your sincerity. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s afraid. </em>
</p><p>Inhale. Let it go.</p><p>
  <em> He wants the same thing you do: to be seen, and to be loved. </em>
</p><p>He pivoted. Turned down the trail back toward his house. He needed to talk to Mycroft. Really have it out and decide how they would move forward.</p><p>He needed to remember how to trust.</p><p>Not everyone leaves. Right?</p><p>“Mycroft, I’m coming,” he whispered.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg opened his front door and strolled in, quickly. Mycroft wasn’t in the living room, nor the kitchen. Mycroft wasn’t there. He thundered up the stairs and did a turn around his bedroom. No Mycroft.</p><p>He checked his office and the bathroom. No one.</p><p>Scratch watched him from the back of the sofa as he came back into the room. He checked out the front door and looked to his driveway. Mycroft’s car was gone.</p><p>
  <em> Should have looked there first. </em>
</p><p>He grabbed his phone and called Mycroft’s number. It went to voicemail.</p><p>He texted: <em> Call me. I’m sorry. Let’s fix this. </em></p><p>He waited an hour before he called Sherlock.</p><p>“Lestrade, why are you calling me?”</p><p>“Do you know where Mycroft is? He isn’t answering me.”</p><p>Sherlock made a disgusted noise. “Why should I know? He’s left me with the illustrious duty of entertaining our parents. He should have known this would happen, and now he’s probably walking about, all shocked and bothered. What a drama queen.”</p><p>Greg rolled his eyes and hung up. Then he texted Sherlock: <em> Please tell him to call me, or to come back to my house, if you hear from him. </em></p><p>Sherlock texted back: <em> I refuse to get in the middle of a lover’s quarrel. </em></p><p>Greg answered: <em> Please. </em></p><p>
  <em> Fine. </em>
</p><p>Greg opened his front door and stood on the step. He thought of how Lavinia Holmes had stood out here, confident in her ability to rattle her son’s lover and sow dissent between them. </p><p>She’d done it.</p><p>
  <em> Bitch. </em>
</p><p>He wished he could reach her. </p><p>
  <em> Well, I could go to Sherlock’s. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Nah, that sounds like a bad idea. Wait it out. He’ll come back. </em>
</p><p>Greg went back inside. </p><p>That’s when he noticed it.</p><p>Mycroft’s book was no longer on the coffee table. Greg checked the bathroom. Mycroft’s bag of toiletries was gone.</p><p>Dread weighing in his stomach, Greg trudged up the stairs. None of Mycroft’s clothes were hanging in the closet, or folded in his drawer. His suitcase was gone.</p><p>The house key that Greg’d given him was on the bedside table.</p><p>Somehow, this seemed like a nail in the coffin. </p><p>Greg sagged onto the bed, his world buckling under. The room was dimly lit and growing darker with the setting sun. </p><p>Mycroft was gone.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please remember that I promise the happiest of happy endings.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Building Resilience</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Adaptability and redundancy is key to the long-term resilience of any ecosystem. If one plant or animal is removed from an ecosystem, or the general climate changes in a way that affects living organisms, it impacts the web of life. If the ecosystem can meet needs in other ways, then the changes are hardly noticeable. As more and more organisms are removed, as climate changes, the resiliency of an ecosystem is threatened. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Think of it as a bowl with a marble in it. The bowl is the ecosystem. Tipping the bowl forty-five degrees is the disturbance - a weather event, a forest fire, so on and so forth. If it's a deep bowl, the marble will stay inside the bowl at forty-five degrees - the ecosystem can renew itself. But as levels of resiliency are removed (climate change, extinct plants or animals, deforestation, etc.), the bowl becomes shallow. Eventually, a 45 degree tip is going to release the marble. It has reached a critical threshold, and the ecosystem is forever changed. </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Greg dialed Jo’s number.</p><p>“Heya, Peri and I were just talking about you.”</p><p>“He’s gone.” Greg blurted, squeezing his eyes shut.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I - he’s gone.” Tears bit at his eyes, but he tilted his head up to stare at the ceiling. “We - we spoke this afternoon, and he was angry, we both said stupid things, and now...I came home, and everything of his was gone. His phone’s been shut off.”</p><p>“Oh god.” Greg could hear her closing a door and the quiet increased on her end. “Greg, you mean Mycroft left? I thought he was staying a little longer and you two were figuring things out. What happened?”</p><p>“I should’ve stayed home with him and tried to fix things.” He rubbed his eyes and focused on his breathing. “I should have told him how I felt. How what he thought isn’t true.”</p><p>“Greg, oh my god, I’m so sorry you’re going through this, baby,” Jo soothed. “What did he think? Hold on, Peri’s gone up to her room for the night, I think. Marcus is watching a game. I could come over?”</p><p>“Christ, Jo. I dunno, I’m kinda a mess right now,” Greg mumbled.</p><p>“I won’t stay too late. Are you sure he isn’t coming back?”</p><p>Greg swallowed hard. “You don’t have to come over. It’s stupid. I’ll be fine. It’s not like he’s going to ruin me for the rest of the gays. That already happened.”</p><p>“Fuck, Greg. I - I don’t understand what’s going on. What do you mean what he thought isn’t true?”</p><p>“It was dumb. It was so dumb. His parents stopped by. He didn’t even know they were in the country. And his <em> mother </em> - Jesus Christ, Jo. My mother is bad, but this woman is a piece of work. She said he was running for political office, so he couldn’t be dating a man - especially someone like me. And she implied he was dating this woman who stayed at his flat for the weekend -”</p><p>
  <em> “What?” </em>
</p><p>“Yeah. I asked him about it, but I was so...frozen in the moment, and I didn’t do very well.” He scrubbed one hand over his face and tried to sink further into the cushions on the sofa. “I asked him about running for office, and he seemed to think he needed to make that decision without me, which I thought was just shit, and then I asked him about Alicia, and he said...well, he asked me if he could have been anyone, any reasonably good looking gay guy that I came across, if I would still have latched on.” </p><p>Jo didn’t say anything. Her silence confirmed it for him.</p><p>“Yeah, you’ve been wondering the same thing, I know.”</p><p>Jo hummed. “It’s not - actually, I thought Mycroft and you made a great pair. I wouldn’t have...I didn’t early on, but when I started to get to know him and see the two of you together...I don’t believe that anymore.”</p><p>Greg bit the inside of his cheek. Released it. “Well, when he said it, it brought up all kinds of shit for me, so I...I was so angry and I’m an idiot. I basically implied that he was right and left the house.” He squeezed his hand into a fist. “After I told him fuck him, and I hoped he enjoyed being alone.”</p><p>
  <em> “Oh.” </em>
</p><p>“I didn’t mean - I didn’t mean for him to leave. It was all so stupid. Fuck. It was so stupid. His key’s here. He left his key. I don’t know why - I mean, I know why-”</p><p>“Greg, you’re spiraling. Stay calm, please, breathe.”</p><p>“Sorry, sorry-”</p><p>“Don’t apologize to me. Just, breathe. In. Out.”</p><p>Greg sat up straight and inhaled. Exhaled. “I’m a mess.”</p><p>“It’s okay to be a mess.”</p><p>“I just want to tell him I’m sorry. I want him to come home.”</p><p>“Fuck, Greg. I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“This isn’t what was supposed to happen. He was...he was supposed to be the one. I thought we’d be happy together, even if we had to travel back and forth and deal with some time apart here and there, we were figuring things out.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“And I figured, Peri was going to go to college in a couple years, so then, maybe I’d move to London with him, ya know? She could visit. You could visit. We’d come back from time to time.”</p><p>Jo was quiet. </p><p>“We were willing to try to make it work for a year. Said we both felt the same, we were on the same page. It’s all gone to shit now.”</p><p>“But he only left a few hours ago. You sure he’s not coming back? Maybe he just needs time to cool off.”</p><p>“No. He packed all his stuff, and left behind the key.”</p><p>“Greg, you said this all happened a few hours ago. Keep trying his phone. Try Sherlock. Let him know you’re sorry.”</p><p>“I’m trying.”</p><p>“Okay. And you know what? You always talk like he’s out of your league. He isn’t. You’re a catch.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter now. He’s gone.”</p><p>“No, Greg. You don’t stop being a catch just because he’s gone. And he may not be totally gone. Maybe he needs time to cool off.”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?”</p><p>“Nah. I’ll see you at yoga tomorrow,” Greg said. “I’ll get myself together by then. Peri doesn’t need to see her old man crying.”</p><p>“Right. We got to keep up appearances about men not having softer feelings.”</p><p>“Ha ha. Funny.”</p><p>“You’re going to be okay,” Jo said. “But, seriously, if we need to do a sleepover, I can rally the troops.”</p><p>“You’re a good friend, Jo.”</p><p>“The best. I know.”</p><p>“Could you...could we maybe turn on a movie and watch it over the phone together?”</p><p>“I’m down for that. Just let me - I’ll need a drink and some snacks. You think about the movie.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Moments later, Greg was sprawled on the sofa with Jo talking in his ear, and Scratch purring on his chest. His heart hurt, but the buffer of friendship lay around it like a warm blanket.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After a couple of days of unanswered texts and phone calls, Greg decided  he needed to resign himself to the loss. Push down the grief. Say “fuck it,” and forget him. Molly avoided talking to him though he could see her pinched face in the periphery. Jo texted him daily with funny memes and stupid jokes. Damien told him he was better off without him. </p><p>When he saw Sherlock for the first time at the Preserve, he almost ran to him. Sherlock stood by the beehives with a clipboard and a pen, his eyes fixed on the front of the hives.</p><p>Greg approached. “Hey, Sherlock, could I talk to you for a minute?” His heart pounded.</p><p>Sherlock pinned him with a narrow stare. “If this is about Mycroft, I’d rather not be involved.”</p><p>“I’m just trying to get a hold of him. I want to talk. To say sorry.”</p><p>Sherlock worked his mouth as he shifted his gaze to the beehives. “My brother is insufferable, officious, and grotesque, but he is still my brother. I have long thought him impervious to the machinations of love and infatuation, but it seems you have proved otherwise. He doesn’t deserve to be a stand-in to cushion your self-worth and sense of loneliness.”</p><p>“That’s not - “ Greg balled his fist in his pocket. “That’s not what he is to me.”</p><p>Sherlock glanced at him again. “I’m not getting involved. Go away, please. I’m busy.”</p><p>“Sherlock, please,” Greg said. “Please. I care about him very much.”</p><p>The corner of Sherlock’s mouth curled. “And he cared for you, it seems, though it has done his confidence no favours. Give him some time, Lestrade. Mycroft...when he is hurting, he builds walls. I assume he’s disposed of the phone he used here before his flight.”</p><p>Greg’s mouth dropped open. “He’s gone, then?”</p><p>“Yes. Left yesterday. In a temper, I might add. I was glad to see him go.”</p><p>Greg swallowed. “So, I have no way to reach him. Except maybe through you.”</p><p>Sherlock released a loud exhale and dropped the clipboard by his side. “I will tell him what you’ve said here today if and only if he asks me. Now will you please leave me to do my work?” </p><p>Greg turned away. “You know, I know you put up this front - you pretend like you hate his guts and you call him names. But I am glad you look out for him.”</p><p>Sherlock grunted. Greg walked away.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Work kept him busy. Level tempered. Gave him something to do with his time. The nights were take-out and tv and cuddles from Scratch. Some beer. Trying not to think about it.  </p><p>Going to the bed was the hardest. He left what he thought of as Mycroft’s side untouched. Jo at one point had implied Mycroft to be uncaring and cold. Damien said he was surprised Greg fucked him at all with “that stick he’s got lodged up there.” They didn’t see what Greg saw. The lift of a lip in an amused smirk, the twinkle in his eyes. The way Mycroft struggled to hold it all in, but how Greg could slide beneath his defenses, convince that lift of a lip to erupt into laughter, indulge in the softness as Mycroft soothed him with kind words and tender touches. How Mycroft saw him and accepted him, loved him, even. </p><p>That he was certain of. Mycroft loved him. </p><p>And when Greg scared him, he closed up. When Greg didn’t stop to discourage his fears, to allay his concerns, when he fell back on his own defenses instead of assailing Mycroft’s, he confirmed for Mycroft his greatest fear: that their love was false. A convenience. Mycroft, who hadn’t dared to love someone since his husband.</p><p>That didn’t stop him from being angry about Mycroft closing off all contact. He kept hoping, and hoping, that Mycroft might finally open up a line of communication. But, he realized, Mycroft was the sort to cut things off at the knees if he could.</p><p>It struck fear in his heart. A painful fear that threatened to jackknife his body if he dwelled on it. So, nights, nights were for alcohol and mindless television shows, a cat weighing heavy on his chest.</p><p>Especially when the package arrived. </p><p>It was from a shop in Provincetown. Addressed to Greg. He cut the top open and dug through the packing material. An eleven by fourteen envelope lay at the center of newspaper and bubble wrap. He slid out a wooden canvas. </p><p>The painting. The encaustic painting of a bay scene at night, the ocean and sky painted with pthalo and ultramarine and cerulean. Warm, cadmium lights from the windows in a row of cottages on the horizon.  </p><p>A folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor. With a sickening feeling, Greg bent down, picked it up, and unfolded it.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘First you figure out what each one means by itself, the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop full of moonlight. Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story .’ -Mary Oliver </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Greg, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I am a brilliant man - and that is not bragging, it is a fact. Yet, the wisdom you have shared with me through your observations, your desires, and this poetry, has both baffled and impressed me. You have a unique perspective on the world, and I find myself eager to see more.  </em>
</p><p><em> When I read the </em> Wild Geese <em> by Ms. Oliver, I think of you: “ </em>You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”</p><p>
  <em> I intend to let the soft animal of my body love what it loves. Thank you for doing the same.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> With Sincere Gratitude, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mycroft </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Greg dropped the note and fell to his knees. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Greg entered the yoga studio, mat bag over one shoulder and water bottle in hand. </p><p>“Hey,” he said to Jordana, looking her quickly in the eye and then laying his mat out on the ground. </p><p>“<em> Greg </em>,” She intoned. </p><p>“I know, I know. At least I showered and shaved this morning.”</p><p>Peregrine bounced into the room and dropped her mat on the ground. She turned to Greg with her usual smile. Then frowned.</p><p>“Hey Peri,” Greg put on a big smile. “What’s the word?”</p><p>“Are you sick? Should you be here?” Peregrine’s eyes were wide as she looked him over.</p><p>“I’ll be fine. I just need a good yoga sesh.”</p><p>“<em> Dad </em>. If you’re sick, you know you shouldn’t be out and about where you can spread it.”</p><p>“I’m not sick, I’m just...not- sleeping.” Greg ran his hands through his hair. “I just need a relaxing day.”</p><p>“You need to take care of yourself.” Jordana sat on her mat in a bit of a huff.</p><p>“I do. I promise. I’m a big boy.” He lowered himself into<em> shivasana </em>, staring up at the ceiling and ignoring the pointed looks between his best friend and his daughter.</p><p>“Oh! I forgot to fill my water bottle.” Peregrine bounced back up and out of the room. </p><p>The noises of other early entering yogis, saying hello and rolling out their mats, echoed around them.</p><p>“Greg -”</p><p>“Don’t. Just don’t.” Greg exhaled. He lifted his arms from the mat and let them flop down. “I’ll be okay eventually.”</p><p>“I know,” she replied. “I just - hate to see you like this.”</p><p>“I appreciate that you care, Jo. I just...don’t want to talk about it. Not yet. It’s too fresh.” He felt his throat closing. </p><p>“Okay. Just know I’m here for you.”</p><p>“I know. Thank you.”</p><p>“Dad? Did something happen?”</p><p>Greg hadn’t heard Peregrine’s soft steps back into the studio. He sat up and looked at the concerned face of his teen. Eyebrows low, close to one another. Eyes wide. Lips shaped in a small frown.</p><p>She waited for him to answer.</p><p>“Uh. Well. Mycroft went back to England, sweetie. And I guess, I just miss him.”</p><p>“Was he supposed to go back?” She asked in a low voice.</p><p>Greg decided to be truthful. “Yeah. He was. He was always going back to England. But, it still hurts, is all, kid. I’ll be better soon. Just have to grieve a little while.”</p><p>Peregrine nodded, like she understood. “Okay. Do we need to have a movie night with some ice cream?”</p><p>Greg smiled at her. “That sounds great. What should we watch?”</p><p>“Your choice.” She smiled back.</p><p>His eyes met with Jordana’s. His heart lifted, just a bit. <em> The family that matters, </em> he reminded himself.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was Friday again. Two weeks since Mycroft left. </p><p>Jo had let herself in through the door. Peri wasn’t with her. </p><p>“Hello,” he said, resigned to his fate.</p><p>“Greg. You look…”</p><p>“I know. I’ve spent an entire week just...doing nothing.”</p><p>“Did you go to work?”</p><p>“Most days. Luckily it’s the quiet time before the school field trip explosion.”</p><p>“Have you been sleeping?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Greg. You need to sleep.”</p><p>“You think I haven’t been trying.”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Greg sighed, world-weary and sad. “Sorry, Jo, I just...I’m so fucking sad right now. I’m fucking sad. I knew it would end, and then he made me believe…”</p><p>“You’re sure he told you he was staying?”</p><p>“He said he wanted to. He said he would arrange his work… Maybe I misunderstood. But I thought we were good, and that we were serious, and I let...I let myself love him.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Greg.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “I thought you two were good together.”</p><p>“I just thought...well, now here’s someone I’m proud to be with, and someone who treats me well. I thought I’d..anyway, it doesn’t matter now.”</p><p>“It matters, Greg. What did you think?”</p><p>“I could see myself spending a good, long time with him. I even had thought of, I dunno, maybe he’d be someone I’d marry.” Greg rubbed his eyes. “But, I guess it’s a lot to ask. We’re both working, sort of set in our ways. But I thought...I was thinking about retirement, y’know? I was there, ready, at the word. I don’t think he knew that. When I didn’t address his fears about...about my feelings toward him, he just sorta...freaked out. I think. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I don’t really want to think about it anymore.”</p><p>“God, Greg, it wasn’t all you. To cut you off like he did? I mean, yeah, you could have done better. But for him to just leave you in the lurch like this? That really - what’s that stupid saying? Grinds my gears. Are you sure he hasn’t tried to contact you in some way?”</p><p>“Sherlock thinks he ditched his phone before he left.”</p><p>Her shoulders sagged. “That makes me so mad for you, to think someone could treat you that way.”</p><p>“Well, Jack did.”</p><p>“So what? Jack was a piece of shit. Mycroft...Mycroft at least had some damn class. I expected more from him, and he shouldn’t jerk you around.”</p><p>Greg sighed and sank onto the sofa. Mycroft had been so hesitant in the beginning. And Greg pushed. A bit. Not super pushed, he’d offered friendship as well. Mycroft was a bit like a feral cat in that way. Dying for some affection but ultimately suspicious of receiving any. With parents like his, who could blame him?</p><p>“I’m sorry, Greg. I’m just angry.” Jo sat on the arm of the sofa. “With him.”</p><p>“What I said -”</p><p>“I know! I know! But this...disappearance? Not cool. Not what an adult who wants to have a relationship does.” </p><p>“I know. I’m glad you care. I’m just...I’ll be fine. Really. Maybe I’m just meant to be alone. Maybe that’s better.”</p><p>“Greg. You have so much good in you, so much to share. Don’t think that way.”</p><p>“The pool is pretty shallow.”</p><p>“That doesn’t mean you won’t find someone. Have you tried Tindr lately?”</p><p>“Uh, I don’t think I’m ready for dating again. I need some time. I’ve got to regroup.”</p><p>“I get it. Of course you do. Then get yourself some rebound booty.”</p><p>Greg laughed, though it was half-hearted.</p><p>“There’s that sound I miss,” Jordana chuckled. </p><p>“What’s Peregrine up to?”</p><p>“She’s on her cell with a friend. In the yard.”</p><p>“Boy or girl?”</p><p>“Does it matter?”</p><p>“Can’t a father show concern for who his daughter hangs out with?”</p><p>“Sure. But remember that we taught our girl how to take care of herself.”</p><p>“Well, I hope she has better luck than I do in love.”</p><p>Jordana sighed. “We all want things for our children to be better. She’ll figure out her way, just as you’ll figure out yours.”</p><p>“Jo, you’re like, the best friend anyone could have.” He shifted further into the cushions. </p><p>“Now, you’re really getting loopy on me,” she teased.</p><p>“It’s crazy, though. Sometimes, I think, I should just be straight, and then -”</p><p>“What, we could be together?” she snorted. “Are you kidding? We’d kill each other on the honeymoon.”</p><p>Greg smiled at her. “Only because you snore.”</p><p>“Fuck off!” She laughed. “Now, let’s talk the latest episodes of Schitt’s Creek.” She collapsed onto the sofa beside him.</p><p>“Moira.” He slid an arm over her shoulders.</p><p>“That last outfit was to die for - she looked like some bird-of-paradise!” She chortled as she snuggled into his side.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Greg poured himself a cup of apple cider. Molly sidled up next to him. They’d talked a few times at work, warming up to one another as Greg swung in and out of prickly moods.</p><p>“How goes it?” he asked. The smell of fall was thick in the air and the cyclical sense of the seasons gave him some feeling of comfort. It was time to turn that outward. Maybe. So he’d come to the annual Staff Pumpkin Carving Contest with the intention to be social. </p><p>Molly brightened. “Good! Do you mind pouring me a cup?”</p><p>“Sure thing.” He poured a second cup and handed it to her. She thanked him, and they turned to face the party.</p><p>Six picnic tables each held a pumpkin and carving tools. Preserve staff and volunteers were arranging themselves into teams. Greg sipped his apple cider, having that split second of persnickety doubt that he should have come at all. He didn’t exactly feel like carving pumpkins, or being cheerful with his coworkers. He longed for the comfort of his couch and television. Maybe a few B horror movies to help pass the time.</p><p>“Greg,” Molly was calling his name. “Earth to Greg?”</p><p>“Sorry, Molls.” Greg shook his head. “Just thinking.”</p><p>“Are you doing okay?” she asked.</p><p>“I’m living,” he said with a small smile. “I’m fine, Molly. I’m just...figuring out what I want to do with myself is all.”</p><p>“Like, how? Are you...you’re not changing jobs, are you?”</p><p>“Nah, nothing like that.” He gestured around with his mug. “I mean, I’ve been here a long time and I love what I do. Hunting season has kept me pretty busy with Artemis, but I was thinking like...maybe I need a long vacation. Get my head on straight.”</p><p>Molly nodded. “‘Kay. Have you heard from…?”</p><p>“Not a thing, and I don’t expect to.” Greg tightened his grip on his cup. It had been exactly one month since that awful fight with Mycroft. “You know, even with how it ended, it would have been nice to talk. It would have been nice to have some kind of closure, ya know? I might have even been friends with him. After some time. And now, as time passes, I just find myself getting angrier about it. Like, really angry.” He’d placed the encaustic painting at the back of his closet. Seeing it made him want to take a blow torch to it, and that wasn’t fair to the artist who’d created it. </p><p>Molly lowered her head, staring into her drink. “I would have thought maybe you two could have talked, maybe he’d explain… But, jeez, Greg, if some guy had done that to me, you’d be telling me to forget him and that I was too good for a jerk like that, and he didn’t know what he was missing and on and on and on. So, I’m going to tell you.” Her eyes bore into him. “Greg Lestrade, you are too good for that man, and he has no idea what he’s missing out on. It’s his loss and you need to focus on yourself and making <em> you </em> happy. Someday, someone else more deserving will come along, and thank god that idiot left you so the way is clear for someone who really loves you.”</p><p>A prickling started at the back of his eyes. He ducked his head and cleared his throat. “Thanks, Molly. I’ll try to remember.”</p><p>“You better.”</p><p>“It’s hard,” he breathed out.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“I can’t start crying here.”</p><p>“Then we’ll stop talking about it. Let me tell you about the wonders of The Sims Pets edition, and my thoughts on how they could improve it.”</p><p>Greg guffawed. “Wow, yeah, thanks. That sounds riveting.”</p><p>She punched him in the arm. “You bet. Better than the goddamn horror video game I was playing on the Oculus headset the other day. Could not get past the first part of the storyline. I had to play Sims just to get my heart rate down and get my brain to stop thinking about ghosts in the closets and bogeymen in the hallway.”</p><p>“Sounds awful. Why do you do that to yourself?”</p><p>“Adrenaline junkie.” Her eyes twinkled.</p><p>“Ugh. I get skydiving, but horror video games?”</p><p>“What can I say? I love a rush.” She grinned. “You want to go to the Six Flags Scarefest? I’ve got another ticket. Sammy’s going, and I’m trying to get Sherlock on board. My roommate’s going, too, and my sister and her boyfriend.”</p><p>“The Big E is more my style. Lots of food tents.” Greg returned her grin. “Thanks, though. I appreciate the invite.”</p><p>“Anytime. So, should we make a team?” </p><p>Greg glanced around. “Looks like Sammy is eyeing up that funny looking pumpkin. Want to join him?”</p><p>“Let’s,” she replied.</p><p>Greg gripped his cup and walked over to the table with her, a family pasted on his face.</p><p>Sammy looked at them as they approached. “Okay, work with me. But, do you think this pumpkin kind of looks like a peanut?”</p><p>Greg glanced. It did have a shape suggestive of an hourglass...if the hourglass was somewhat bloated in the middle and lumpy on the top.</p><p>“Uh, sure,” he laughed, a bit of tension lifting from his belly. “What do you have in mind?”</p><p>Sammy grinned, and it was brilliant. Soon enough, he and Molly were arguing about peanuts versus tree nuts and which would be the superior food in a world facing climate change, and Greg scooped the guts out of their soon-to-be jack-o-lantern.</p><p>Despite the gravity of the basis for the argument, Greg found himself smiling. He watched sparks from the fire float into the air, the glow lighting the canopy of the trees, and the leaves, having changed colors, burning orange against the dark blue of the October sky. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Sammy handed him a glass of Guinness. He wrapped his hands around his own. They’d had two already, and it was getting late, but Greg had agreed to another.</p><p>Meeting for happy hour had become their Thursday night habit. Granted, today was Wednesday, as tomorrow was the Thanksgiving feast. In light of Sammy's recent breakup and the holiday, Greg was happy to stay meet on a different night.</p><p>They’d been mumbling random things about work to one another while their eyes fixated on the ice hockey game playing out on the bar’s flatscreen. </p><p>“Okay, I think I’m finally ready,” Sammy said, staring at the head of foam on his beer. He sighed.</p><p>“Good. Tell me what happened.”</p><p>“Well, we were supposed to get together for lunch on Tuesday.” Sammy’s eyes drifted to the tv screen. “And he called to say he was cancelling. And he’d cancelled on Sunday afternoon. And Friday night. And last week’s lunch date.” He blew out air. “I mean, he’s supposed to be working on leaving her, or telling her, at the very least, about how he’s figured out that he’s gay. I’ve been telling him that a therapist would help him, but he refuses to see one. He has some crazy idea that seeing a therapist is a sign of mental weakness.”</p><p>“Wow. Sounds like he could definitely use one, then.”</p><p>Sammy scowled, his face reminding Greg of Tiny the owl for just a second. “Yeah. I just...I couldn’t take it anymore...He was unbelievably uncaring about it. When I pointed out to him all the cancellations, he just treated me like I was bothering him. He says he loves me, but then he doesn’t do anything to show it.” Sammy put his forehead down on the bar.</p><p>Greg leaned forward and whispered, “You realize the surface of this bar is probably teeming with microbes? Teeming.”</p><p>“Gah!” Sammy shot up. “You’re...ugh, gross. Thanks for that.”</p><p>“Just doing my part as your friend.”</p><p>Sammy rolled his eyes and he huffed. “Gee, thanks.”</p><p>Greg smiled and shifted on the stool. “So, what happened?”</p><p>“I told him I had had enough. He’s been saying he’s going to come out and leave her for over a year. And like I said, Greg. We’ve all had our coming out.”</p><p>“It never really ends.”</p><p>“Exactly. And, I thought I was willing to wait for him to be ready...but I feel like I’m at a standstill. And now, I don’t even feel important to him, and I haven’t felt important to him in a long time. I don’t want to judge him for it, but I can’t help but kind of...hate him for it.”</p><p>“You’re entitled to your feelings, Sammy,” Greg said as he tried to ignore the related pinprick of disappointment with his relationship with Mycroft having ended. The focus was on Sammy tonight.</p><p>“Well, Molly’s been a big help. She’s been listening to me cry about it for a long time now.” Sammy tilted his face toward Greg and smiled. “And I’m glad we’ve patched things up. I’m glad we’re friends again.”</p><p>Greg smiled back, and bumped his pint glass to Sammy’s. “Me too.”</p><p>Greg drank one-quarter of his third beer while Sammy ordered a fourth, and then finished with an Irish slammer - which Greg cautioned him against but couldn’t convince him not to imbibe. By the time he got Sammy out to the parking lot, Greg was driving him home, and telling him to get an Uber to pick up his car the next morning.</p><p>“You are not in any condition for driving.”</p><p>Sammy snorted and giggled as Greg told him to get his seatbelt on. </p><p>“Right now you are ridiculous. You can sleep it off on the sofa.” Greg pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.</p><p>Sammy went quiet in the passenger seat as Greg drove. Greg glanced at him. Sammy stared out the window, his elbow on the hand rest of the door, chin in hand.</p><p>They were both hurting. Greg still couldn’t quite believe what had happened. The love he had shared this summer with Mycroft was one of the most exhilarating things he’d felt in all his life. Even with the worry and the fear that accompanied it. He’d opened his heart and when it turned out Mycroft loved him back, that exhilaration climbed higher, like a Mount Everest of happiness.</p><p>God, the fall had been excruciating. He still couldn’t sleep the whole night through, but he spent his evenings and days off dozing on the couch, binging shows and snacking on pretzels and chips. His middle softened and his hair grew shaggy, and the stubble on his chin was a permanent thing now, along with the dark circles under his eyes. But he spent several mornings out on a hunt with Artemis, and that had enlivened him somewhat.</p><p>Nature, the panacea for his ills.</p><p>Molly tried to be jovial and complimentary to him at work. Jo had been spending extra time with him despite her wedding planning. Even Peri looked up more from her phone and spent more time talking to him. She seemed the most worried of all, as if her dad might shatter like glass right in front of her.</p><p>
  <em> Pathetic. </em>
</p><p>He turned into his driveway. “Okay, Sammy, up and at ‘em.”</p><p>“Mm.” Sammy fumbled about his seatbelt and managed to undo it without Greg’s help. </p><p>The air was crisp and cool outside as if autumn was already bending to winter. Thanksgiving was just around the corner. </p><p>Sammy stumbled against his car. Greg offered his arm and guided Sammy to his door. </p><p>“I’m going to help you to the bathroom first, okay? You take care of yourself and I’ll get you some water.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Sammy said as he waved one hand up in the air. “‘M fine.”</p><p>“Uh huh.” They got to his door. “I’ll get you pajamas too.”</p><p>“Mm.” Sammy wobbled as he tried to lean against the doorframe. “Thank you, Greg. You could’ve gone on hating me.”</p><p>“Naw, Sammy.” Greg held his elbow to steady him. “I just had to get over myself.”</p><p>“Still, you’re a great guy.” Sammy stepped forward and kissed Greg on the mouth.</p><p>Greg yanked back, causing Sammy to nearly fall forward. Greg caught him and held him up by his arms, but he kept his face back from Sammy’s.</p><p>“Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry.” Sammy gripped Greg’s forearms. “I, uh, thought…”</p><p>“Let’s just get you inside, okay?” Greg could feel the heat on his face. Sammy was so close, a warm body, someone who liked him. He held the man at arm’s length while he unlocked his door. Sammy kept mumbling apologies. </p><p>“Okay, okay. I’m going to help you in.”</p><p>“You’re a good guy, Greg.” Sammy opened the door and went in, Greg keeping him upright and moving. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Growing Pains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>The word "traumatropism" describes the growth of a plant after it has suffered some sort of disturbance or trauma. It's a word that denotes persistence, determination, and yes, it even smacks of hope. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Phototropism" describes the growth of a plant in regards to light. Some parts grow towards light; others grow away. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm sure you can see the potential for metaphor here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg gave a thumbs-up to Jo when she offered to top off his glass of wine. “Perfect.” He took a sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, good stuff,” Jo said as she took a sip of hers, still holding the bottle in her other hand. They stood in the dimly lit hallway away from the buzz of the family festivities.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you here drinking the wine without me?” Marie came up behind them, her grey hair piled atop her head in a stylish bun. Her lips were painted a deep burgundy, and her brown eyes twinkled with the merriment of the season. “Quick, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pitit</span>
  </em>
  <span>’, fill my glass, and I’ll be on my way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wi</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Granme.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Jo smiled as she filled her grandmother’s glass. The woman pinched Greg’s butt and continued down the hall, the bangles along her wrist rattling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg rolled his eyes. “Already? How many has she had?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Granme</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s been drinking since ten this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My ass is going to be black and blue by the time we get to dessert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep,” she laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri passed by them and grumbled. “Why is this my life? Why is my great grandmother flirting with my dad? Who’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>gay</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg and Jo’s eyes met, and they burst into laughter. “Let’s get out of the way of traffic,” Jo suggested. Greg followed her into the den. He glanced into the living room as they passed; Marcus watched football with Jo's siblings Michel and Mirlande. A gaggle of kids played some kind of group game on their phones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the den, Laurence sat in a chair, head bent over his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is where you’re hiding, daddy?” Jo giggled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laurence huffed. “That woman is trying to drive me up a wall. I just want to check the score.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo sipped her wine and leaned on the arm of the chair. “I saw </span>
  <em>
    <span>Granme</span>
  </em>
  <span> head toward the kitchen, and Peri, too. So she’ll have minions to send after you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s got your sister Esther. The kitchen is small enough as it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it, your kitchen is huge.” She crossed her legs. The skirt she was wearing was slim fitting and hit above the knee, and though Greg could admire the shape of her leg, it just didn’t spark a sexual attraction in him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Still no hope in finding someone among women.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He almost sighed audibly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about you, Greg? How did you miss kitchen duty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I brought a dish,” Greg answered with a wolfish grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Smart man. Okay, I better face the music.”  Laurence stood and slid his phone into his back pocket. “Don’t want to wait until she sends Marie or Peri after me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s kind of crazy how my father ends up being the only man in the kitchen year after year. I mean, Marcus cooked our contribution. I helped. But Michel? Any of the men Esther or Mirlande have brought home? Just sat on their asses and watched football.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I made my dish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slid into the seat of the chair from the arm. “You don’t have any other choice. Though I suppose you could pay Peri to do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have that kind of cash lying around,” Greg laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, how are things?” Jo’s eyes glittered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, been a little awkward. Sammy’s apologized about a thousand times.” It was an awkward morning. Sammy, about as red as his brown skin could be, muttering apologies over a cup of coffee and almost running out the door with one of Greg's ceramic mugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oof. I’ll bet. I’m so glad nothing more happened between you two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. And even if I was interested, Sammy was too drunk for anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why wouldn’t you be interested? I didn’t really ever consider it before, but Sammy’s good looking. You share similar interests. Though I suppose working together complicates it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That, and Sammy’s too young for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s he, like twenty-eight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and I’m turning forty-one in a couple months.” Greg took a swig of his wine. “Plus, he made it a point to say ‘he doesn’t see me like that.’ Not to mention he’s super hung up on Andy, still. And I’m...still hung up on Mycroft, so, it’s not going to work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. Still?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg heaved a sigh, feeling his stomach shrink in on itself. “Yeah. Still. I keep remembering stupid things. Little things. Like the wrinkle he’d get between his eyes whenever something offended his sensibilities, kind of like how Sherlock gets. It’s adorable when he does it. Sherlock looks like a caricature of himself when he does it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo chuckled. “Yeah, he’s got a face for making faces.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway.” Greg ran his fingers along the bookshelves of the den. Spotless. His place was a mess - takeout containers piling in the kitchen and dust bunnies bigger than Scratch under the furniture. “I’m working on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what about that rebound booty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m thinking I’d just like to be alone for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tried that after Jack! Are you really going to do it again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I liked being by myself. Even if it was kind of lonely. I might be better off that way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Eeyore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pretty sure I’ve heard you tell Peri that you don’t need to be with someone in order to be happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Most people don’t. Some people though…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so I’m some people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you’ve learned how to be one of those other people.” She pressed the rim of the glass to her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg almost snapped at her, but instead, he said, “Fair enough.” He fiddled with the stem of his glass, and scanned the bookshelves. “Maybe I’ll learn how to be one of those people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you acting so surprised? Am I so pathetic that you think I can’t do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I just think it’s a hard thing to do and you’re an old dog.” Her eyes sparkled, and she hopped up from her chair. “Greg. I believe in you. I think you can do it. And you have me to support you.”</span>
</p><p><span>“I know. Thank you. You’re the best friend anyone could ever ask for.”</span> <span> Greg wrapped his arms around her and gave her a tight squeeze. </span></p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on in here?” Marcus asked from the doorway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Marcus, stop it,” Jo grinned as she pulled away. She lifted the bottle of wine and emptied the last of it into her glass. “We’ve kicked this one. I’m going to go get us another.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus stepped fully into the room. He crossed his arms, but kept a smile pasted on his face. Jo handed her glass to him. “Be back in a jiff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg sipped his wine, feeling Marcus’ unwelcome gaze on him. “How’s it going,” he asked, trying to make polite conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, man, you and me have a problem.” Marcus stood straighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s spine went rigid in response. “I’m sorry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A problem.” Marcus waved his hand between them. “You’ve been taking up a lot of her time, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re friends,” Greg said. His jaw clenched and a roiling boil of disbelief spilled over him. This guy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Close friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Greg arched an eyebrow at him and crossed his arms. “And just friends, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But she drops anything for you, anytime. I have no idea why. You’re just a guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Her</span>
  </em>
  <span> best friend,” Greg said as he squared his stance toward Marcus.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Who used her for some kind of straight experimentation, and then left her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t act like you didn’t know, man. She wanted to be with you. And I know she loves me - believe me, I wouldn’t be marrying her otherwise. But anytime you call, anytime you text, anytime you got some problem, she drops everything for you. And I’m not sure I like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg wanted to laugh. “Jo’s not like that with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m the one watching her from her side of the phone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Exactly. You’re the one on that side of the phone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus held up his hands. His voice become conciliatory - like he was trying a different tactic than a head-on confrontation. “Listen, all I’m saying is that I’ve never seen a person devote so much time to a friend. Though I don’t think it’s friendship sometimes. You have a problem, and she’s your emotional caretaker. It’s like she has a second child who doesn’t live at home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A strange discomfort curled in Greg’s gut. “Our friendship is none of your business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is when it affects my relationship. It’s going to be my marriage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her marriage, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. And she has one kid. That I accept, and I’ve come to love Peri. But you act like a second, and that’s not acceptable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t get to tell us how to be friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus laughed. “Man, you don’t get it. Have you even asked her about her job lately? Have you talked to her about the wedding? Did you know her mom had a biopsy the other day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s eyes widened. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. We decided not to tell any of the kids until we knew what it was, but Jo would have told you if you asked her how her family’s doing. And she’s thinking of leaving her job, because it’s really stressing her out. And she won’t talk about her wedding with you, because she feels like she’s rubbing her happiness in your face. Did you know or guess at any of this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg's mouth opened; unsure, wrong-footed. Caught out. As if he'd just been on a staircase that flattened to a slide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo came back into the room. She looked at their faces. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like he’d swallowed his tongue, but he forced himself to speak. “Uh, your mom had a biopsy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo frowned at Marcus. Then she looked at Greg. “Yeah, she did. We should get the results tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry if Marcus spilled the beans on that one,” Greg said, and he couldn't help that it sounded snide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo glanced between them. “Okay, I don’t know what’s going on here. I need you two to get along. Greg, I would have told you if you had asked how everyone was doing. Marcus, I’ve told you to be polite to Greg.” Her eyes narrowed at her fiance, and grabbed her wine glass from him. “Please go back to the living room. I’ll be there in a minute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus glowered at Greg before leaving the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Jo, I have to ask specifically about your mom before I can find out something like she’s had a biopsy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep your voice down,” Jo said and then pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “Listen, I’m sorry. I let it slip to Marcus that you were going through another rough patch, and I wasn’t going to say anything unless you asked.” She dropped her hand. “Which, I knew wasn’t likely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach turned. “You didn’t think it likely that I would ask?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you didn’t, did you?” Jo poured more wine into her glass. “It’s fine. I would have told you eventually. I know things are tough, right now, and when you’re down in the dumps, you tend to focus on yourself. I don’t have a huge problem with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I focus on myself?” Greg repeated. She wasn’t wrong. He just didn’t know it was any kind of problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But of course it’s a problem. It’s like other people’s problems don’t matter when you only focus on your own problems.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I would have listened to you. About something like that with Odette? She’s your mom, and Peri’s grandmother, and my family friend, right? I do care about her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. It’s not that. I know you care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what is it? And what about your job?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you care, it’s just that when we talk, we tend to only talk about you,” Jo said. “Or, we talk about Peri, or we talk about tv shows. I mean, you haven’t asked me about my job in...probably years! You don’t ask me how I am, or about my family, or anything. It’s just about you. We talk about Peri because we have to, and we talk about other things to distract you from your problems. It’s a lot of you. But I don’t begrudge you that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you must on some level, because you got your boyfriend here telling me -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not my boyfriend!” Jo gestured with the wine bottle. “He’s my fiance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, your </span>
  <em>
    <span>fiance</span>
  </em>
  <span> -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See? That’s it. Right there. You don’t like him, and you’re sad about where you are in life, so you don’t want to hear about my wedding. You don’t like it when I talk about Marcus.” She groaned. “It’s just easier when we talk about you. And just you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg scrubbed his hair with one hand and turned to stare at the bookshelves. “Okay. Sorry.” He felt done in. Shit. Should he leave? But what would he say when people asked questions?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too. Let’s just...c’mon. It’s Thanksgiving. You and I have a lot to be thankful for. Let’s focus on that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg licked his lips. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mycroft was supposed to be here for Thanksgiving. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The thought was an uninvited guest on the doorstep. The same pity party, and that was part of the problem, wasn't it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Let’s, um. Maybe I can help in the kitchen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg.” Her voice was laced with worry, and her eyes round and searching. “Are we okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course we are. I just...have something new to learn, that’s all.” </span>
  <span>And he might need to throw up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I’ll give you a little space. But please, remember that I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She drops everything for you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” He brushed past her and headed for the kitchen. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Greg? Would you mind watching the front desk while I go use the bathroom? I’ve also got to grab something from my car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a problem.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly flashed a smile as she came from behind the desk and headed down the hall, taking her coat and scarf with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He settled into the rolling chair and moved through the open tabs on the computer. One of the tabs was an article with the title </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why Are Women Still Doing More Emotional Labor Than Men?</span>
  </em>
  <span> A sentence caught his eye: </span>
  <em>
    <span>When it comes to emotional labor in relationships, women are the ones picking up the slack.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He read the article from top to bottom, his conversation over Thanksgiving creeping through him like tendrils on a vine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She drops everything for you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Marcus had said. Greg had denied it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, thanks,” Molly said as she returned. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, no problem.” Greg clicked over to one of the other tabs and got out of the chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly sat and pulled her long brown hair into her usual ponytail. “What’s today’s big task?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg worked his throat. “Um, well, working on interpretive signage. Want to highlight the tree that got hit by lightning this summer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.” She smiled at him and then turned her attention to the computer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg looked at her, his mind chasing thoughts and ideas of how to broach the subject. Did he want to broach the subject?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was he one of those men?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did Jo think that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or...Molly?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, he closed his mouth, and retreated to his office.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night, Greg read several articles on emotional labor and friendship. He mulled over the implications - he relied on his female friends to manage his deeper emotions. He didn’t share those softer emotions with Damien. He was all surface with Sammy aside from the recent venting and complaints. Jo and Molly were his go-to every time he felt sad or pathetic or frustrated or affectionate or lost. Damien was all swagger - they had real talk from time to time, but it was angrier. A more acceptable form of communication among men. Sammy and he had had some real talk, but it was brief and often under the influence of alcohol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With Jo and Molly, he received validation and dissection and deep discussion as they maneuvered him through grief and self-pity and prevented him from engaging in self-destructive behaviors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had the<em> best</em> friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But why didn’t he and Damien talk more seriously? It wasn’t as if they were the toxic male stereotypes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, maybe, in some ways, they were. In some ways, they felt the need to act manly and removed around each other, despite the fact that they were both gay men who were pretty active in the gay subculture. Where men could be more effeminate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then again, weren’t they still dismissive of men who took on female traits? Even the LGBT community could be transphobic, despite drag culture, and hadn’t even he and Damien sat around insulting “flamers?” He remembered one conversation with Damien where Damien had said “it’s like they open their mouths and their purse drops out,” and how they had laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus, the misogyny was alive in their friendship, and Greg hadn’t even realized it. Just followed along with the prescribed male behavior from the larger culture - a culture that didn't like women. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It even interfered in top/bottom discussions - he’d heard it all. A pervasive, subtle line of thought that the bottom was “the woman,” because real men did the penetration bit. As if whoever did the penetration was automatically in charge, the dominant personality, the superior. Homophobic, misogynistic bullshit.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus Christ.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg dragged his fingers through his hair. The only sounds in the room were the creaking of the heater, and Scratch’s mounting purr. It was dark except for the artificial glow of his computer screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg put his laptop down and grabbed his guitar, which had been gathering dust in the corner over the past few months.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He plucked a few strings, and then he began to play, rusty, but pensive.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know we're all eager to see Mycroft again. Don't worry. He'll be back in the story soon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Light at the End of the Worm Tunnel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter's a little early - I figured it was ready, so why not? Enjoy!</p><p>CW for discussions of racism.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The forest ecosystems of New England rely on having large masses of undecomposed leaf matter. Here's the crazy thing: they've evolved this way because New England does not have native earthworms. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>For those living in New England, this may come as some surprise. Earthworms are ubiquitous; whether you garden or fish, or just like to roll over rocks and logs, you'll undoubtedly find earthworms. Believe it or not, these species are introduced, and many are invasive. Their rate of decomposition on the forest floor prevents the growth of certain trees, ferns, and herbs. They are changing the look of the forest in some areas.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There is no method for controlling these infestations. Instead, we have to accept that it is beyond our abilities to change this. We focus on the things about the forest ecosystem that we can change, instead.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Kind of like people. Some of them are infestations. We can fight them and entrench ourselves in a weary, losing battle. Or, we can focus on the things we can change.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And what we can change does not include other people.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Christmas carols played on low, and the smell of ham, gravy and cinnamon hung in the air. </p><p>Peri hated ham, so she and Greg were splitting a vegetarian lentil loaf. “I think this is the best one you’ve made,” she told Greg. Brigitte rolled her eyes.</p><p>Dan snorted, and Nicole jabbed him in the arm with her elbow. </p><p>Greg ignored them. “Thanks.”</p><p>Evie chattered, seemingly unaware of the minor adult drama playing out. “Peri, I can’t believe you get to go to France. I’m so jealous. I can’t wait to travel when I’m older. I want to see places we’ve never been.”</p><p>Peri smiled, her curls bobbing with her excitement. “I can’t wait to see the Louvre.”</p><p>“What’s the Louvre?”</p><p>“It’s a famous art museum.”</p><p>“And what, there are no famous art museums in the United States?” Brigitte asked with a snide tone.</p><p>Greg glared. She turned her face away.</p><p>“I’ve been to the Met and MOMA,” Peri said. “And I’ve gone to the Guggenheim and the Frick. I’m excited to get to see the Louvre.” </p><p>Greg gave her arm a squeeze, and returned his hand to his lap. They had a running bet on who between them would end up rolling their eyes first at the table, but Greg hoped it would be him. He wanted Peri to feel loved by her extended family, even if they were prickly and difficult at times.</p><p>Particularly Brigitte Lestrade.</p><p>But he couldn’t help engaging in the juvenile activity of making fun of them a bit, if only to make Peregrine and him feel better about having to visit for Christmas. Most of their frustration was directed at Brigitte. Greg kept his feelings about Dan, her uncle, to himself. Especially since she was closer to her cousins than he’d realized - it turned out they texted quite a bit. He’d found that out on their seven hour drive up to Maine, as Peri spent most of the time bent over her phone, laughing over jokes he “wouldn’t understand.”</p><p>Nicole turned to Peri. “And Peregrine, how was dinner with your family on Thanksgiving?”</p><p>“Nice. Mom messed up the turkey, but I prefer the side dishes, anyway.” Peri shrugged. “I call it the National Day of Mourning, actually.”</p><p>“What?” Dan asked. His questioning tone suggested a level of annoyance. </p><p>“In memory of the Native American Indians who lost their lives and their culture due to the invasion of white people.”</p><p>Greg ducked his head and hid his expression behind his fork. It was like Peri was purposely baiting them, and he didn’t have the heart to stop her.</p><p>“We watched <em> The Cherokee Word for Water </em> that morning before all the festivities began.” She scooped up some peas on her fork. “It was really good. Sad, though. Really opens your eyes to what was lost.”</p><p>Brigitte stood from the table. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. National Day of Mourning? Thanksgiving is a day to be thankful for family, not get lost in something none of us were a party to.” She picked up her plate and headed for the kitchen. “The Indians lost; it’s time they got over it.”</p><p>Most everyone at the table paused. Nate glanced up at his grandmother’s retreating back, and Evie’s eyes roamed around the table. Nicole stared down at her plate, her mouth a crooked line.</p><p>Peri was frowning, and Greg grew alarmed when her frown faded and her eyes narrowed. He almost moved to grab her thigh, send her some warning, as she opened her mouth, but something told him to wait. </p><p>“‘It’s time they got over it?’” she questioned as Brigitte returned to the room. Greg could hear the delicate edge of righteous anger in her voice. The type of anger a teenager has the energy for, where the feelings are tumultuous and the indignation hot and the faith in their ability to change the world is new and all-encompassing. “Seriously?”</p><p>“Yeah. Do you think it’s sane to spend year after year, centuries after all of it happened, feeling sorry for a people?” Brigitte scowled as she collected Dan’s empty plate. “This is ridiculous. It’s like being asked for apologies, or slave reparations - we didn’t do it, we weren’t there. None of us. It’s a pointless exercise in guilt and I won’t be party to it. These groups need to realize they’re not under oppression anymore and get over themselves.”</p><p>At <em> slave reparations, </em> something in Greg snapped. He found himself studying his mother, the harsh lines around her mouth and eyes, recalled the way she committed microaggression after microaggression and spouted ignorant ideology, and did it without thought to others, especially without thought to him and his black daughter. All his life, he’d done his best. Done his best to block the worst of her from Peri, done his best to appease her when he could, and still, nothing good came of it. </p><p>When she finished, he’d decided.</p><p>“Shut up,” he said. And stood. Peri’s face turned from one of fury to shock.</p><p>“Greg -” Dan started. </p><p>“You are - ” he raised his voice over Dan’s, shaky as it was, “You have no understanding of this topic, and the really fucking sad thing here is that you don’t even care to <em> try </em> and understand. You formed your opinions a long time ago, based on reactionary emotions and limited, racist information, and you don’t even care if someone else brings in a new avenue of thought. You just tune it out because it doesn’t fit with your little worldview - and it is a <em> little </em> worldview, just so you know, mom. That’s what comes of living in the same tiny little goddamn town all your life without ever looking outside of it, without reading and educating yourself on the larger world, and without reaching out to others with differing perspectives. You want to know what the National Day of Mourning, and apologies and <em> slave reparations </em> have to do with you or us as a society? We, white people, <em> benefit </em> from the things that these other people lost. We benefit - that’s how it affects us today. What happened back then wasn’t our fault, but today, we still have privilege from the way things worked out. <em> And they worked out in our favor </em>. </p><p>“You have no fucking idea. None at all. Yes, there are people who are white and poor, and yes there are white people who are disabled and who have to deal with terrible hardships. That’s not what privilege is about, and that’s not negated by the fact that we can have a little human decency when it comes to the way we’ve benefited - we can acknowledge that we benefit, and we can even be proactive about it by amplifying the voices of historically oppressed communities.</p><p>“Human history is ugly. Shit today is still ugly, but you can be part of the solution, or you can be one of the dinosaurs the rest of us hope die out sooner.”</p><p>The air sounded with gasps from around the table. His mother stared at him, gripping the empty plate with pale knuckles, her face pale and her eyes tight with anger.</p><p>Greg threw his napkin down on his plate. “C’mon Peregrine. Get your stuff. We’re driving home tonight.” He turned to Nicole. “You seem like a perfectly lovely person, and I apologize for this outburst of mine. It’s been a long time coming.”</p><p>Dan glared at him. Greg ignored it and left the room with Peri hot on his heels. </p><p>It wasn’t long before Brigitte’s screeching followed them. “You get out of my house! You are no son of mine!”</p><p>“Damn straight, but we established that a long time ago,” he mumbled as he climbed the steps to the guest rooms. Peri hurried into hers as he headed for his.</p><p>“I can’t believe you would speak that way to your own mother!” she screamed from the bottom of the stairs.</p><p>Luckily he hadn’t unpacked too much. He tossed his pajamas into his suitcase, and made sure he had his shave kit and toothbrush from the bathroom. He grabbed his phone charger and stood in the doorway of Peri’s room. She had pulled on her winter coat and her backpack. Her eyes were wide and her mouth slack.</p><p>“Go say goodbye to your cousins. They’re good kids,” he said.</p><p>Peri glanced behind him. “What about her?”</p><p>“Ignore her.” Brigitte was crying now, yelling something about Greg having never been a good child, always ready to leave his family behind. Greg tried not to let any of it register in his hearing. He didn’t care to have it on loop when his negative thoughts next spiraled at him while lying alone in his bed.</p><p>He walked down the steps with Peri. Dan stood beside their mother with an arm around her shoulders.</p><p>“You’ve got some nerve,” he said. He looked like he was ready to hit Greg. Greg grabbed his daughter’s hand, his body tense and the blood in his ears roaring. </p><p>“Peri hasn’t done anything,” he said as he met Dan’s angry stare. “She wants to say goodbye to Nate and Evie.”</p><p>Evie darted out of the shadows down the hall. She wrapped a hug around Peri. Nate followed and the three teens embraced. </p><p>Greg watched. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes. He reached out and grabbed Nate’s shoulder, and then pressed a kiss to his hair. “You and Evie are both wonderful. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t you touch him!” Brigitte was shrill. “Don’t you touch him!”</p><p>Evie grabbed him around the waist. </p><p>“I love you both; I’m sorry.” He kissed the top of Evie’s head, and then he grabbed Peregrine by the arm. “Let’s go.”</p><p>He didn’t look at their faces as he went out the door.</p><p>When they got into the car, he wiped the tears from his eyes. Peregrine sniffled in the passenger seat. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said as he started the car. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have exploded like that.”</p><p>“Dad, I’m not mad at you,” she said, full on crying now. It tugged at his chest. “I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why they’re like that. And, I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”</p><p>Greg’s heart stuttered. The things Peri had grown up hearing and seeing. The things he’d tried to protect her from, but still got through somehow.</p><p>He reached over and grabbed her knee. “I’m proud of you, too. So fucking proud. And keep texting your cousins. Okay?”</p><p>She wiped her face with her sleeve and nodded.</p><p>“I didn’t scare you, did I?”</p><p>“No,” she said and smiled weakly at him. “You were perfect. I didn’t get scared until later, when we were leaving.”</p><p><em> Dan. </em> It’d been a long time since they’d had a physical fight - something stupid, when they were boys. He’d never seen Dan act like that.</p><p>
  <em> Jesus Christ. What just happened? </em>
</p><p>He didn’t know that he could ever fix it.</p><p>He did know that he felt a freewheeling sensation that he’d never experienced before. A freedom, a weight lifted, some kind of tether snapped. He didn’t have to play up to these people anymore. No trying to impress them, no trying to fit in. </p><p>He was himself. He could be himself.</p><p>And his daughter was proud of him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Hi Uncle Greg. That was the coolest thing I’ve seen. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She had it coming. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> I could have done it differently. Better. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Please be respectful to your grandmother.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Yeah but she needed someone to say something to her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I get tired of hearing it, and Evie has to hear it too </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> You hear her say stuff? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> She’s a big ol’ racist and I’ve been ready to cancel her for a while. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> You’re an adult now, so I’m not going to tell you what to do. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But I am glad that you’re an open minded person. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Greg figured he could thank the internet for Nate’s generally forward-thinking outlook. He wished he’d had the internet sooner in his life - he could have used a larger community to reach out to while he was growing up in the backwoods of Maine.</p><p>The hotel he and Peri found was small but comfortable. They were sharing a king-sized bed. He could hear Peri mumbling and crying through the bathroom door. As soon as they stopped, she’d asked to call her mom. </p><p>Greg knew it would be his turn soon, so he took off his coat and shoes and stretched out on the bed. There was a water stain in one corner of the ceiling. He was thankful it wasn’t particularly rainy out. </p><p>His stomach squirmed like a worm on a hook. It’d taken him several minutes of driving to stop shaking, with the music on and his daughter silent in the passenger seat. His mind tossed him little potshots of Brigitte’s uttered throughout the years, little comments he’d endured for the sake of peace. Her general outlook was one of twisted conservatism bred through ignorance, and as often as he’d tried to excuse her, it just wasn’t possible anymore. </p><p>Feelings knotted him up - elation with the thrill of seeing her face when he’d told her off. Anger at having waited so long. Shame that he spoke to her that way combined with shame of having let it go on over the years. Annoyance and anger with Dan. Upset that the kids had witnessed him go off. Pleasure that his daughter was proud of him. </p><p>He could have taken her aside, spoken to her alone. But it was done. And his daughter was proud of him, if a bit of a weepy mess, and Nate admired him for telling off the “ol’ racist.” </p><p>He was proud of that. Somewhat.</p><p>It just sucked that the ”ol’ racist” was his mother. </p><p>And now, he was in a bed at a hotel, his daughter locked in the bathroom crying to her own mother. </p><p>And, uneasily, unbearably, he wanted Mycroft. Mycroft would have understood and helped to parse his feelings. Would have held him.</p><p>But he’d behaved the way he’d behaved, and he was going to own it. Mycroft wasn’t here. Greg was his own man. He said those things, and honestly, he stood by what he said. He’d drawn his lines in the sand, and he could say “I did that; that was my choice.” And it was all right. </p><p>It was all, all right.</p><p>The bathroom door opened. Peri, her face tearstained, held her phone up to him. “She wants to talk to you.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he said and held out his hand. She passed him the phone and then sat on the floor with her backpack and began rummaging through it.</p><p>“Hey, Jo.” Greg shut the bathroom door behind him.</p><p>“What the actual fuck, Greg?” Jo asked in a whisper.</p><p>“I know. She got...on my last nerve, I guess. I’m not sorry for what I said.” He leaned his back against the door. Its creak echoed softly in the bathroom.</p><p>A pause. Then, “Good.” A loud sigh. “Peri told me what you said. Wow, Greg. I’m shocked. After all this time.”</p><p>“She’s...she’s not the best person. I do love her, I think, because she’s my mom. You know, we did have some good times together when I was a kid, and I can’t push that away so easily.” <em> I can own my feelings. </em> “The thing is, I’m upset that she’s not the mother I want her to be. But I can’t change her. But I will protect myself, and I will protect my daughter. And I won’t let her talk that way in front of us.”</p><p>It surprised him to hear a sniffle from the other end. “Yeah. Oh Greg. I’m...so sorry this happened, but I’m so happy that you defended our daughter and yourself. I just wish it didn’t have to happen at all.” Then she said, “Though, if I was there, I’d cut a bitch.” </p><p>Greg gave a little laugh. “Listen - it happened. There’s nothing we can do about it now. She has Dan and his kids and his new wife. I’ve got you and Peri, and Peri has us, plus the rest of your family.”</p><p>“And Marcus,” Jo said.</p><p>“And Marcus,” Greg said with a smile. </p><p>“You know, the rest of my family loves you, too. I mean, you’ve been with us for over fifteen years, Greg. They’re your family, too.”</p><p><em> Okay. </em>It’s not something he’s really embraced, but maybe the only thing that’s been stopping him from being a full fledged member of Jo’s family is himself. “Thank you...I’ll do my best to remember that.”</p><p>“How’s Peri doing now?”</p><p>“She seems okay. I’m sure she wants her phone back.” </p><p>“Ha. Okay. You and I are going to talk more about this later.”</p><p>“Copy that.” He opened the bathroom door. Peri sat on the bed. </p><p>“Love you,” Jo said.</p><p>“Love you, too.” He handed the phone to his daughter, who went back into the bathroom.</p><p>He plugged in his own phone and flopped back onto the pillows with the remote for some mindless flipping through tv channels. Then he checked his phone. A <em> Merry Xmas! </em> Stared at him from Molly. From Damien, a gif depicting Bruce Willis in <em> Die Hard </em> with the caption “Yippee Ki Yi Yay Mother-fucker!” underneath. Greg smiled and sent appropriate greetings back to each of them. Then he sent the same gif from Damien to Sammy, and to Jo, who both sent back laughter emojis, and additional greetings of the season.</p><p>Peri came out dressed in pajamas and flounced on the bed next to him. “What’s on tv?”</p><p>“Well, looks like we’ve got a choice between <em>It’s a Wonderful Life </em>and <em>Love, Actually.</em> <em>Elf</em> is on after <em>Love, Actually.</em>”</p><p>“Oooh. Do that one.”</p><p>“‘Kay.”</p><p>They were quiet for a little while.</p><p>“Dad?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Are you...ever going to talk to Grandma again?”</p><p>Greg’s stomach hurt to think about it. “I’m sure I will. But if I ever...if we start talking to each other with any kind of regularity, I won’t let her get away with things like before. And she may not like that. So, she may not want to talk to me.” He looked at her. “But, you’re old enough to make your own decisions, you know. If you want to talk to her, do it. If you’d feel better about your life if you didn’t have to, you don’t have to. It’s up to you.”</p><p>“What’s the right thing to do?”</p><p>“Hmph. Good question. I think you’ve got to do what’s right for you.” He scratched his belly. “It’s a matter of doing what will make other people happy versus what will make you safe and happy. If it’s something you can do while making yourself safe and comfortable, then do it. I’m not sure I can answer that for you, kiddo. It’s about your own tolerance level for bullshit.”</p><p>She was absorbed in her thinking. She didn’t even correct him on <em> kiddo </em>.</p><p>“What are you thinking?”</p><p>Her face scrunched. “Why is she like that?” she asked in a small voice. “I mean, I’m just like her other grandkids; I’m just darker.”</p><p>The anger and self-righteousness flared again deep in his gut. “Peri, don’t give that woman another thought. She’s wrong. And...there’s a lot of complicated stuff behind it, you know. Yeah, she’s racist, but when it comes to you, there’s more to it.” He sat up and grabbed her and pulled her into his arms for a hug. “You’re so smart, and you’re so capable, and it’s her loss that she doesn’t see you for who you are. But what blinds her isn’t just old racism, it’s family history, too. My dad left her for another woman, she told me. And, I look like him. A lot. And then I left, and I didn’t just leave, but I couldn’t <em> wait </em> to go. I was restless all through childhood, and looking like him, someone who broke her heart and left her, didn’t help at all. And when I left, I was so busy with my new life that I didn’t really call home a lot. And that hurt her. I see that, now.”</p><p>“What does that have to do with me?” Peri wiped her eyes with her palm.</p><p>“Well, when you were born, I didn’t marry your mother. I had to explain myself over and over. I’m gay, and what happened with your mother was a one time thing.” <em> Jesus, I do not want to explain this to Peri. But she should know. </em> “She didn’t understand that. She thought I was leaving some poor woman just like my dad left her.”</p><p>Peri bit her lower lip. “But shouldn’t that have made her more sympathetic to mom? And to me?”</p><p>“Well, she didn’t get along with your mother. And, you, you’re super smart, and you want to travel and you talk about things she doesn’t understand. You leave her behind in a different way, just like I did, and just like my father did. When she feels left behind, she protects herself by being dismissive and with-holding and cold. It sucks for us. So, add some archaic, bigoted ideas, and we’ve got the perfect cocktail for some fucked up family dynamics.”</p><p>“Still, why is she taking it out on you, or me? We are who we are, physically. We can’t help how we look.”</p><p>“I know. I’m so glad you are who you are. You make me so proud.” He released her from his hug. “And I want to make you proud of me. I’m not interested in her opinions. She’s not our people. We’ll make our own tribe, kid.”</p><p>Peri threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him. “Okay.”</p><p>Greg’s heart swelled. “Okay.” </p><p>She pulled back and fluffed up the pillow next to his. “Look, <em> Elf </em>’s starting.”</p><p>Greg smiled and settled back into his pillow. “Excellent.”</p><p>A little ache inside him, the one that had been lying there since Mycroft left, lifted just a bit.</p><p>Things were going to be okay. And he was never as alone as he thought.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Irene’s perfume invaded his nostrils as she hugged him, plus the scent of whatever product she wore in her hair to keep her curls styled and crisp.</p><p>“Kate and I can only stay for a bit, because we’ve another party to get to, but we wanted to stop by here and give you lots of love,” she said and kissed him on the cheek. </p><p>Kate hugged him next, and then wiped what was presumably Irene’s lipstick off of his cheek. Irene winked at them. “Happy New Year, Greg.”</p><p>“Happy New Year to both of you.” </p><p>Jo and Marcus sat arm in arm on his sofa. Molly sat in the armchair. Sammy, Henric, and Lisa stood in the small kitchen, while Damien and Mario hung out in the doorway of the kitchen. Peri and her bestie Kayla had escaped to Peri’s room</p><p>Irene and Kate started hugging everyone in the living room. He crossed the room to Damien.</p><p>“I’m glad you made it, man,” he said.</p><p>“I’ve never known you to throw a New Year’s Eve party. We had to come.” He had his arm around Mario’s waist, and Greg could practically see the hearts in Mario’s eyes as he stared at Damien. Something inside Greg trembled with an old pain, but he pushed it away. Damien had found someone special. He would be happy for his friend - because he wasn’t going to make this about him.</p><p>“Mario, I’m glad you could make it. I hear meeting Damien’s mother went well.”</p><p>“I think she’s just glad her son isn’t such a big slut anymore,” he said with a cheerful grin.</p><p>“Hey!” Damien said in mock outrage. </p><p>“Yeah, I’m proud of him, too.” Greg bumped Damien’s shoulder. </p><p>“I can’t believe you two are openly slutshaming me. As if either of you could talk.” Damien turned to Mario. “You know, back in the day -”</p><p>“Hey, my boss is standing right there!” Greg hissed. Sammy watched them with mirth in his eyes. </p><p>Henric lifted a bottle to him and Lisa giggled. “I salute you,” he joked. Lisa nodded, unsuccessfully hiding her smile behind her beer bottle.</p><p>“This is so unprofessional,” Greg said with a laugh. </p><p>“We’re off duty,” Henric said with a shrug and a wink. </p><p>“Oye. I’m going back to the other room.”</p><p>He passed Irene and Kate on the way to making their greetings in the kitchen. “Make sure you get yourself a drink,” he said. He stood behind the sofa and took stock of the bowls of snacks and plates of appetizers on the coffee table, in case something needed refilling. </p><p>Jo grabbed his arm and squeezed it, smiling up at him from where she sat. “Good food. Should we turn on the Twilight Zone marathon?”</p><p>“You bet.” Another yearly tradition. Usually he went to Jo’s apartment and watched it with her, Peri, and sometimes some of her nieces and nephews. A couple times, Molly had joined them.</p><p>She flipped it on. “Ooo, my favorite!”</p><p>Marcus looked at her with a perplexed expression. </p><p><em> “To Serve Man,” </em> she said, grinning. </p><p>“A great one!” Molly agreed. </p><p>“Never seen it,” Marcus said.</p><p>“Oh, we gotta put the caps on,” Jo said and handled the remote. </p><p>Greg floated between the two rooms, talking with his guests and letting the warm bubble of emotion in his gut expand to engulf him entirely. He was in a household of people who cared for him - well, maybe not Marcus. But he was willing to give it a chance with that guy. </p><p>It was an hour and a half before midnight when Irene and Kate began to make noises about leaving for their next party.</p><p>He texted Peregrine: <em> Come out for a minute, and then you can go back. </em></p><p>He waited for Peri and Kayla to appear in the living room. </p><p>Greg stood and tapped his glass of wine loudly.</p><p>“Hey Jo, can you shut off the tv for a minute?”</p><p>“Yeah,” she said and did.</p><p>All eyes were on him, expectant. He breathed in, feeling his body jitter with nerves. “So, um, I invited everyone here for a party, of course. But I invited all of you because you’ve all...been so helpful to me, whether you know it or not. I wanted to have all the people who are special to me in one place so I could thank all of you. I am such a lucky man. I have amazing friends who love me, and a daughter who told me just the other day that she was proud of me - and I’m proud of her, too, and I always thought it was the business of the parent to be proud of the kid, but when she said she was proud of me, I was astonished to find that nothing made me happier in my life.” He smiled at her. She ducked her head, but the smile on her face was wide and giddy. “Anyway, I’ve been a bit of a sad sack for a couple years, and you’ve all been really kind to put up with me. I’m indebted to you. Friends, family, coworkers...all of you. And I want to make it up to all of you in return, so please. If there’s something I can help any of you with, I want to do it. And not just because you’ve all done something for me, but because you all deserve good things in your life, and if I can help you get it, I want to do it. So, thanks, for being in my life. Cheers.” He lifted his glass.</p><p>Everyone lifted their glass and said, “Cheers!” </p><p>Jo jumped up to hug him, followed by Molly. Irene and Kate said their goodbyes with thanks and kisses on the cheeks (followed by checks for lipstick). Marcus smiled and shook his hand. Sammy hugged him with tears in his eyes. Damien and Mario hugged him at the same time. Lisa hugged him last, with Henric providing a slap on the shoulder. </p><p>He saw Peri mouth ‘I love you’ to him from across the room, and then grab Kayla’s hand and drag her friend back to her room.</p><p>Jo appeared at his side again and cupped his cheek with her hand and kissed him on the opposite cheek. “I’m proud of you, too.”</p><p>“I’m proud of me, too,” he said with a laugh. </p><p> The party went back to its revelry, and when midnight came, he shared in more hugs and more cheek-kissing. </p><p><em> This year is going to be my year. </em> He settled into a chair and watched his friends, his family, celebrate together.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. The Start of a New Migration</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi all. Good news: the plan is to post FOUR chapters this week. Chapter 39 on Wednesday, chapters 40 &amp; 41 on Friday. This probably tells you that some exciting things are happening imminently. I want to thank you so much for all the kudos and comments. Because of your enthusiasm, I did what I could to prepare these chapters earlier than originally planned. My gift to you. &lt;3</p><p>In regards to this chapter, there is potentially very upsetting content. None of the major archive warnings apply, of course, but it is still sad. If you'd like to know what it is specifically before reading, please check the end notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>The ruby-throated hummingbird weighs less than a nickel. Every spring, they migrate up the east coast and as far as into southern Canada, feeding on the nectar of flowers as they go. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In the fall, they’re usually gone from New England by Thanksgiving. These tiniest of birds take to the air and with their hearts beating as fast as 1,260 beats per minute, fly to the Gulf of Mexico, stopping for sustenance along the way.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They gather in Florida and Louisiana to continue increasing their body weights for the final push to Mexico and Central America. While some follow the land down into these areas, others fly straight across the Gulf. These fragile but mighty creatures can fly in stretches of 2,000 kilometers (over 1,200 miles) in </span>
    <span>one</span>
    <span> go.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The key to their resilience is to stop, rest, and refill when they need to. And persist, persist, persist.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But what have you seen, huh? The upper to lower part of New England?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His mother’s words teased him, wiggled about in a corner of his mind, as if there were nothing to do but torment him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>All these big plans and big dreams. Like your dad. He didn’t get far, either.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His mother was a master at pressing where it hurt, jabbing where it was soft and unprotected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shouldn’t matter. But it did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg clicked through websites on his laptop. What had been that guy’s name all those years ago?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julio.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Nice guy. Gave great blow jobs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No idea where he is now, but the way he described his home country…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sites on ecotourism drew his eye, particularly ones with a focus on conservation and minimal disturbance on the natural environment.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, it would have been nice to have traveled with Mycroft-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Don’t think about him. It would have been nice. But things didn’t work out. No use crying over spilled milk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He read up on hot springs, foraging classes, habitat conservation and ziplining through the jungle among troops of howler monkeys and birds as colorful as jewels. After bookmarking a few sites, he checked his bank account, the employee handbook from the center, and looked at the Preserve calendar of upcoming programs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he said, and looked at Scratch. He rubbed the old cat behind the ears. “Okay. I think I can do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scratch mrrped, and rolled his head into Greg’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Sherlock. How were your holidays?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dreadful. Mycroft visited.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s stomach lurched. He paused in his walk, his hands tucked into the pockets of his down jacket. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock fixed him with his alien gaze. “Mycroft. Visited. For. Christmas.” His eyes swept from Greg’s hair to his shoes and then to his eyes. “Oh. You’re still not over him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg swallowed and bit his lip and shifted on his booted feet. They stood on the sidewalk outside the High Point building. The sky threatened snow and the smell of it hung in the air. “He didn’t exactly give me any closure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that required in a break up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hot flash of anger roiled through his belly. “Nah. Guess not. It’s just a nice thing to do. Not that Mycroft would know that, would he? Since his last break up wasn’t really a break up.” The implication was left hanging in the air, but Greg immediately flushed with guilt. </span>
  <span>Unfair. Cruel.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, it’s not as if he’s here to hear you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock seemed flabbergasted, his eyebrows wide and his mouth slack. “You’re angry. Still.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pursed his lips and inhaled through his nose, concentrating on the cool air filling his lungs. “Yeah. I’m working on it, though. You know, even if we couldn’t have been partners, we might have been friends in the long run. Doesn’t seem as though Mycroft has many of those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not; he’s insufferable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg chewed the inside of his cheek. “Yeah. Guess he is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock seemed surprised at this. “You’re not usually vindictive, Greg. True, you sometimes lashed out at Sammy, but you were never vindictive about Jack, who you were with for five years, and who objectively treated you badly; more so than my brother did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It surprised Greg that Sherlock knew so much, but then, Sherlock had a way of knowing things about people. He heaved a sigh, feeling older than he should. “Feelings sometimes don’t make sense, Sherlock. I loved your brother. Probably more than I did Jack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock stared at him with that shrewd gaze. “You still love him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg sucked in his lips, gripped his fists inside his pockets. “Yeah. But I’m working on that. It’ll fade, eventually. I’ll be over him and all of this won’t matter in the long run.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock gave a bob of his chin. “Good. Mycroft said much the same, though admittedly, not in so many words.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s heart squeezed at that. “Mycroft talked to you about me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He seemed sure of your resilience.” Then Sherlock stared off into the distance. “Oh,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed it. I missed it.” He scrunched his leather-gloved hands into his hair and threw them down. “He is good, but I am better.” Sherlock whirled about and stalked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock?” Greg called after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not now, Lestrade!” Sherlock waved an impatient hand at him as he whipped out his phone with the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus. I have a lot of questions for their parents.” Then he remembered the awful meeting with their parents. “Actually, no. No, I don’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The day was unseasonably warm. Valentine’s Day. Molly had asked to set him up on a date, but he’d declined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m taking some ‘me time,’” he’d told her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You took two years of ‘me time’ after Jack,” she’d said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but this time I’m using it well.” He had smiled back. “No, seriously, Molly. I’m alright. I’m learning to love myself. And I don’t want a hookup, but I also don’t want a relationship right now. I got plans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, and what are these plans?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg avoided her eyes. “I’m still working on that. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, mysterious. I like it.” She’d winked at him. “Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg felt good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it was Valentine’s Day, and fifty-five degrees fahrenheit. It’d been months since Greg had taken Tiny or Teeny for a trail walk, so he decided to take advantage of the temperature, and headed for the Animal Exhibit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mockingbird sang in his cage. The tree swallow flitted about, and Greg thought again, for just a second, about Mycroft’s fondness for the tiny bird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The screech owl enclosure was still and silent. His heart tripped when he spied it - a crumpled heap of feathers on the bottom. He unlocked and eased open the doors. Scooped up the lifeless body. Teeny watched him from her perch, her eyes wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he said as he cradled Tiny close to his chest. His body was cool to the touch and stiffening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning,” Sammy said behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg turned, holding Tiny for him to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Sammy said and his face fell. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Oh no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Greg said. Hot tears crept in. “Um, we should probably get a box, and tell everyone. Irene will want to make an announcement on social media.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy nodded and hurried off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg went to the glass door that led to the outside, still holding Tiny’s body. He would be sent to the Yale Peabody Museum to be stuffed by one of their taxidermy students. Then he’d return, in a semi-macabre display of a little owl that had touched the lives of staff, and the many guests who’d frequented the Preserve. Like Candy, who he hadn't seen in a couple months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary Oliver’s words came to him with little effort, and he bent his head toward the body of the owl. He whispered, “‘And I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular, and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence.’” He lifted his head and looked to the grey sky. “‘When it's over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.’” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t a religious man, and he did try not to anthropomorphize the animals, but in some way, he hoped the little owl knew how much he’d be missed.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bad day didn’t end there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg was trying to come up with wording for a commemorative sign to hang on the screech owl enclosure. Sammy appeared in the doorway of Greg’s office. He held a sheet in one hand, and the look on his face was apprehensive. “Um, Greg. I, uh, called the lab to get the date of our next pick up for the rats.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, the guy on the phone said that they’ll no longer do gratis pick up. They’re selling everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Greg stood from his desk, shoving his chair backwards. “What’d they say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He couldn’t tell me anything else.” Sammy twisted the paper in his hands. “And I guess he wasn’t supposed to tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Jesus Christ.” Greg walked out from behind his desk nearly knocking over the potted plant in the corner. “Was it Gary?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. He said he wasn’t supposed to say much but he wanted to warn us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lab’s donations of frozen mice, rats, and hamsters were worth $19,000 a year to them. The donations fed their birds of prey, and their snakes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re serious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy bobbed his chin, his expression wholly sober. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s stomach sank. “Holy shit. We’ve gotta tell Henric.” Sammy and Greg hustled down the hallway to the executive director’s office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg knocked on the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henric sat behind his desk surrounded by wide windows that looked over the meadow. It always struck Greg that Henric was rather like a mountain man living in modern convenience, sitting before a computer, bearded and built like a lumberjack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Henric. Sammy was just on the phone with the laboratory. It’s no longer doing gratis pick up,” Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, what?” His head tilted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re no longer donating rats and mice for the tax break. They’ve found someone to sell it all to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henric placed his hands on his head. “So, how much does that put us back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About $19,000.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henric’s face dropped. “Well.” His mouth tightened into a thin line. “Sammy, get Irene in here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy hurried out the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much supply do we have left?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All the chest freezers are still about three quarters full. I’d say we have at least six months left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we’re about to enter a new fiscal year in a couple months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell?” Henric shifted in his chair, his face pensive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My thoughts exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irene strolled through the door, her heels clicking along the tiles, perfume lingering in her wake. “What’s the bad news?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to source nineteen thousand. Per year from here on out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irene cocked an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips. “You’re serious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The lab is selling their excess. No more free food for the birds,” Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nineteen thousand dollars?” Irene’s pupils constricted as her blue eyes widened. “We’ve already done our gala. Perhaps the fall fundraiser? But we were using that money for capital projects.” She perched herself on the chair across from Henric, her face screwed in concentration. After a moment, her cool gaze lifted from face to face. “Okay, I can create an appeal. We’ll make the amount a nice and even $20,000. Summer is usually the dead time for fundraising, so we’ll get away with an appeal for this year. I am concerned for next year, however. And dead animals aren’t exactly sexy, so we’ll put the focus entirely on the birds without mentioning what comprises their food supply. And I’ll speak with some of the board members.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henric groaned. “As if I need to speak to Ira one more time about our spending -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me deal with Ira. I know what he likes.” Irene stood. “No more glum faces, boys. We can handle this.” She walked toward the door, and then stopped and looked over her shoulder. “However, if you can find ways to source food cheaply and quickly, I suggest you do it. I imagine other organizations are scrambling in much the same way we will be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg scrubbed his hand through his hair, his mouth hanging partly open as he tried for a smile that felt more like a grimace. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus fucking Christ.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His stomach had been in knots over his personal life and the mess his head had become, and he was just starting to feel better about life in general. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, Irene’s confidence and cool demeanor rubbed him the wrong way sometimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rising tide of panic that had ebbed lately in his belly was flowing again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg?” Henric said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sorry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to source food, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m on it.” Greg ducked under a potted plant that hung by the window and went out the door, Sammy at his heels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, I guess I’ll check out some sites that sell rodents and make price comparisons?” Samy asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. And see if there are other labs in the state. Maybe someone else has a breeding program that has excess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg headed for his office to do his own investigative work. It was turning out to be a long week.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Damn, Greg,” Jo said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg paced the backyard of his house. It was Wednesday night, and he’d finally got his insides calm enough to call her. His days had once again passed by in a blur of visiting schoolchildren, meetings, all overshadowed by the loss of their food supplier. His bare feet in the cold grass grounded him, and the day was still light enough to admire the light, vernal colors of the trees that had begun their budding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sank into a cross-legged position on the still-dead grass. Thanks to yoga, it came easily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you going to do?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Irene’s working on an appeal. She’s not sure we can do it yearly - people will expect us to rework our budget and apply for a grant or cut expenses or what have you in order to feed the birds. They don’t understand that we’re already working on a shoestring budget.” He lay back on the ground, the chill prickling through his shirt. He needed this. The physical reality of the grass and earth beneath him, and the darkening sky above him. “And it’s not like we can cut staff. I wouldn’t want to. We have a lot of volunteers doing things for us, and in order to support the programming we have now, plus care for the animals, we need the staff we have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Then she must have pulled the phone away because Greg could hear her say distantly, “I’m on the phone with Greg. Give me a minute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that Marcus? Could you let him know that I’m handling this, but that it’s normal for friends to talk about things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg,” she admonished, but he could hear her smile. Then she sobered. “And  on the same day as Tiny dying? I’m shocked you didn’t call me yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to interrupt your Valentine’s Day.” The grief sat in his chest as heavy as a bag of coins. Soon he would have to begin the process of finding a replacement for Tiny; offering a new permanently injured owl a home. But he wasn't ready for it yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate that, but still. You know you can call me anytime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. But I'm trying to respect your and Marcus' time together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I understand why you didn’t,” she said. “And I appreciate it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you have a nice dinner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was lovely.” She hummed. “Even though we talked a lot about the wedding. We’ve got a venue and caterers in place, and I have my dress and the bridesmaids all have theirs. But now we’re figuring out seating - which is just ridiculous. People should be able to seat themselves without needing a goddamn guide.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agreed,” he laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got Damien and Mario’s RSVP today. I still can’t believe he’s with someone. And I really like him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Mario’s great.” Greg honestly was happy for Damien. “He owns his own business, and he’s funny. I really like him. He seems perfect for Damien.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damien told me that none of his family live up here except for his brother, who helps out with his landscaping business. That was probably lonely for a while. I’m glad they’ve got each other, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” He knew Jo could never imagine being far from her family</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “So, um, I had an interesting conversation with Sherlock the other day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh boy,” she said. “What about? Necrotic fascitis? Vivisection?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Turns out Mycroft was visiting him for Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. And, Sherlock seemed surprised by my reaction. Like, he was surprised that I felt any type of way about it, and he asked me if I still had feelings for Mycroft, and I told him I did, but I was working on getting over them. Then he got all weird, and walked away, saying he missed something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oof. Like does he think Mycroft still has feelings for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He told me Mycroft does. And then he seemed...surprised.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why can’t Sherlock behave like a normal person?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubbed his forehead. “Sometimes I forget why we broke it off, but it doesn’t really matter since we don’t even live near enough to each other to try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it had something to do with him saying something unkind about you when you mentioned Jack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God. When I compared him to Jack and basically accused him of cheating on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wasn’t exactly forthcoming about the woman that stayed for a weekend in his apartment, or why she was going as his date to some ball.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s stomach pinched uncomfortably at that. “It was something his mother said. He could have had a completely rational explanation for it, and I didn’t even give him a chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t blame yourself. It sounds like both of you are at fault - him for being a little too tightlipped and not understanding your needs, and you freaking out after a particularly nightmarish visit from his parents. Unexpectedly. Add to that the physical distance, and...well, if you don’t have trust, you don’t have much of a relationship, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t have let my issues with Jack affect the relationship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but he could have been a little more understanding about where you were coming from. To have just cut you off like he did?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. That hurt the worst.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. That was a dick move. Frankly, I think you may have dodged a bullet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Wish I could get myself to feel that way about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. We can’t always help what we want. But you’re going to get over him. In time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. Meanwhile...there’s something I’ve been thinking about. It’s a big thing. I’m...really excited about it. And I’ve already sent the paperwork, but I don’t have to commit to it just yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small gasp. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Unfortunately, when working in a nature center with a lot of animals, it's common to experience multiple deaths inside of a year. Tiny the owl is based on an owl I loved very much in my own work. I was privileged to work with him for several years before he passed away of old age. He was so popular among our guests that I designed a commemorative patch so everyone could carry a small image of him. Writing him into this story was partly therapeutic, and was my way of honoring his memory and saying goodbye. </p><p>Tiny's death is not for nothing, though, as future chapters will tell.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. Tapping Against the Earth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> The wood turtle is a semi-aquatic reptile that likes wet places but also spends a good amount of time on land. They camouflage well in their surroundings, being a dark pebble color over their shell and scales. By living both on land and in the water, they benefit from existing in a wider food web. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But a remarkable behavior observed in these turtles is their “foot tapping.” They tap the ground in a way that mimics rain. It drives the earthworms from beneath to pop out onto the surface, where the turtles can eat them.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Perhaps this is an example of taking fate into your own hands. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I still can’t believe the gofundme worked,” he said, shaking his head, though his chest swelled with delight. “But I’m so proud of you, you know.”</p><p>Peri folded her arms around herself, wearing a purple puffy coat with the faux fur-lined hood over her head. Her eyes were on the hawk in the air. Greg held out his gloved hand with the mouse tucked between his fingers, and clicked for Artemis to land. </p><p>“I knew it would work,” she said, her chin tipped to the sky. “We have a ton of followers, and I know Nana and Pop shared it with their coworkers, too. You and Mom, too.”</p><p>“Of course. I’m so glad we signed you up, though I am going to miss you, kiddo.” </p><p>Peri stuck her tongue out at him.</p><p>“So, I know you’re turning sixteen and getting your learner’s permit and all that, but do we need to start driving lessons this year if you’re going to be in France for the fall school semester?” </p><p>“<em>Dad. </em>”</p><p>He chortled. Artemis landed lightly on the glove, and squeaked while eating her treat. “I’m just sayin’. There’s no rush.”</p><p>“I want to learn how to drive.”</p><p>“Okay, okay. Fine.” He snapped the leash onto Artemis’ jesses. “I’ll be happy to help teach you.”</p><p>“Mom and Marcus are going to help me, too,” she said.</p><p>“Good. The more practice, the better.” He ran a finger over the crest of Artemis’ beak, and then down to her keel. “So, listen. Nothing’s for sure yet, but this summer, you may have to say goodbye to Artemis.”</p><p>Her eyes whipped to his. “I thought you were keeping her for as long as you could?”</p><p>“Yeah, but -”</p><p>“I mean, you were so upset when you had to let Spirit go.”</p><p>“He was a good bird,” Greg said. Spirit had been his very first falconry bird. A young red-tailed hawk with a skittish personality, but Greg had adored him anyway. The law said you had to release your first bird from your apprenticeship, and trap new birds once you had your general license. “And she’s a good bird. But, I might be leaving. So…”</p><p>Peri eyes widened. “Leaving?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg fingered the packet in his hand. He stood in the long hallway on the second floor of the nature center. Wide windows opened up onto a view of the pollinator gardens, and then further out to a small meadow, and beyond that, the Connecticut forest. Turkey vultures circled in the air. A white-tailed deer foraged at the edge of the meadow. Spring was approaching in all her fine greenery, but the ground was still cold, and bits of ice and snow could still be seen in the shadows of trees and shrubs. </p><p>He turned from the windows and knocked on the open doorway of Henric’s office. Henric looked up from his computer and smiled. </p><p>“You got a minute?” Greg closed the door behind him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Happy Birthday Uncle Greg! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I drew this picture: </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Greg grinned to see an illustration of Artemis with a coffee mug in one talon. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Thank you! That’s really good! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Thank you! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I wish I could go to ur party! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m going to mail the pic to u </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> That would be wonderful! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I wish you could be here, too. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Then there was a message from Nate:</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Happy Birthday! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Thanks Nate! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> I don’t have Evie’s drawing skills.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I did help her decide what to draw, tho </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Don’t worry about it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> This text is enough. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> I was thinking maybe I’d drive Evie  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> down to visit u and Peri. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Okay. Let me talk to your dad  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> about that, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Yeah ok.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> If I can’t bring Evie Ill just come </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Greg’s chest tightened. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sent</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> I want you to visit, but I don’t want  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> to start anything with your dad. Let’s  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> try to play it smart. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Received</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> OK </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Nothing came from Dan or from his mom. He knew not to expect it, but his heart pinched when he thought of it. It didn’t make him happy.</p><p>So, he focused on what would.</p><p>Jo, Marcus, and Peri arrived to help him set up. </p><p>“Marcus, you’re on salad duty. Peri, make the cornbread. I’ll do deviled eggs.” Jo barked out instructions and turned to Greg with a hard cider in hand. “You get to sit down and put your feet up since it’s your birthday. Don’t get used to it.” She winked.</p><p>“Okay, but I did make my own chili, so just remember that I was helpful on my own birthday.”</p><p>“Big man, now, everyone watch out.” Jo began unpacking ingredients. Peri synced her phone with the house speakers, and soon enough everyone was moving to the tunes of Alabama Shakes while making food. Scratch watched the proceedings with an air of suspicion.</p><p>After Marcus was done chopping things for salads, Greg approached him. “Hey, I don’t think I’ve ever introduced you to Artemis.”</p><p>“Uh, yeah. I don’t think so.”</p><p>“Go see her Marcus. She’s gorgeous,” Peri said as she flipped the oven light on and peered at the cornbread. </p><p>“Yeah, come on.” Greg led him out the side door and toward the aviary. Artemis sat on an outdoor branch in the sun. Her citrine yellow eyes fixed on them as they approached.</p><p>“Listen. I wanted to tell you, about that day we talked in the den at Laurence and Odette’s...that you were right.”</p><p>Marcus paused and glanced at him.</p><p>“But I still think you’re kind of a prick.”</p><p>Marcus stared at him. And then he laughed, his teeth dazzling in the sun. “Okay, that’s fair, man.”</p><p>Greg grinned. Artemis shuffled on her perch. “Anyway, I relied too heavily on Jo to help manage my crisis. And my other crisis. All the crisises. Crisis? Crisisees? No idea. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that while I didn’t appreciate what you were saying at the time, I got it later. And just so you know, I’m not a threat to your relationship with Jo. But I will always be in her life, and in our daughter’s life. We’ve been best friends for a long time - best friends raising a kid. And that’s not going to change.”</p><p>Marcus leveled him with a pensive gaze. “Okay. Fair enough. But I’m the number one man in her life.”</p><p>“It’s not about us being men,” Greg snorted. “It’s about our relationships with her. I’m the best friend and the coparent. You’re gonna be her husband. We have different roles. There’s no actual competition between us, because Jo loves us for different reasons.”</p><p>Marcus frowned. But then he nodded. “Okay. But that doesn’t mean we have to be friends.”</p><p>“God, no. But we can at least try to live with one another, the best that we can.”</p><p>Marcus gave a decisive nod. “Okay. Deal.”</p><p>“Deal.”</p><p>Marcus looked at Artemis. She stared back at him, steadily. </p><p>“Peri’s right, she is gorgeous,” he said. “You know, you have a pretty cool job.”</p><p>Greg bit his lower lip and nodded. “Yeah. I do.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Are we connected yet?” Jo said as she held up her phone. </p><p>Damien’s voice crackled. “I don’t see you.”</p><p>“Jesus, the wifi is terrible at your house,” Jo said.</p><p>“Maybe it’s your phone,” Greg shot back.</p><p>“I have the latest phone, and the software is up to date. Get off your high birthday boy horse.”</p><p>Irene handed him a drink. “Looks like you need another one.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>Peri sat on the back of the sofa watching everyone with excited eyes. Sammy sat next to her. She’d been telling him all about her upcoming semester abroad.</p><p>Everyone who was at the New Year’s party was present - Molly, Henric, and Lisa in the kitchen. Marcus in the armchair. Jo standing next to him trying to FaceTime Damien and Mario. Irene and Kate standing near the punch. Everyone with drinks in hand, music up loud, chili passed out in bowls. The sun had set outside, and the inside was cozy, warm, and the atmosphere jubilant. </p><p>
  <em> I am a lucky man. </em>
</p><p>“Hey! Finally!” The video on Jo’s phone came alive with Damien’s smug face. A chorus of hellos greeted him.</p><p>“Knew the problem was on your end,” he said.</p><p>“I know. Greg’s wifi is terrible!” Jo said.</p><p>Mario popped up beside Damien. “<em> Feliz Cumplea</em><em>ñ</em><em>os, </em> Greg!”</p><p>“<em>Gracias</em>, Mario.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, happy birthday,” Damien said with a smirk.</p><p>“Thanks, asshole.”</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Jo said. “Molly, you got the cake?”</p><p>The lights went off as Molly entered holding a sheet cake with chocolate frosting and two candles in the shape of the numbers 4 and 1.</p><p>“<em>Happy Birthday to you, </em></p><p>
  <em> Happy Birthday to you, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Happy Birthday dear Gre-heg, </em>
</p><p><em> Happy Birthday to you.</em>” </p><p>Greg blew out the candles as he snickered at the slightly off-key but enthusiastic rendition of <em> Happy Birthday </em>.</p><p>“Did you make a wish?” Kate asked.</p><p>“Uh, I forgot?” Greg said. “I have everything I need, anyway,” he said with a laugh. He looked at their smiling faces. Molly walked back into the kitchen with Jo on her heels. Greg cleared his throat, knowing the moment had come. Heat flushed behind his ears as he said, “Jo, Molly, get back in here and leave the cake. There’s something I want to tell you everyone first.”</p><p>The lights went back on.</p><p>“Oh god, are you going to make another soppy announcement?” Damien snarked. Marcus now held Jo’s phone. </p><p>“Shut it,” Greg said in good humor. He and Damien had had more phone calls with each other. Damien was in deep with Mario, and though they weren’t wide open about their feelings in general, their friendship had deepened and strengthened. Greg couldn’t be prouder of how far they’d come. </p><p>Even if Damien’s default was to be a bit of a dick all the time.</p><p>He looked at Jo, who gave him a reassuring nod, and then to Henric, who smiled at him from behind his bottle of brew.</p><p>“I’ve accepted a seasonal job offer,” he said.</p><p>Everyone looked at each other, and then to Henric, who kept his eyes on Greg with an encouraging smile on his face.</p><p>“I’m not finished with High Point. Just...taking a sabbatical,” he said.</p><p>“Well, god, Greg, what are you doing?” Molly said in a high pitch.</p><p>“I’ve accepted a position with EcoVillage Tours &amp; Adventure in Costa Rica. I leave in the beginning of August for training for two weeks, and then I’m going to lead tourists on ecotours in the Cloud Forest by Volcano Arenal.”</p><p>“What?” Excited and dismayed voices echoed all around him.</p><p>“It’s seasonal?” Sammy asked.</p><p>“Yeah. They’re looking for people with environmental backgrounds to lead visitors. And the pay is practically nothing, but I get free room and board, and I get to educate people on ecology - a different kind of ecology, but I’ll learn. And then we take them out on trail walks, boat tours, and ziplining.”</p><p>“Ziplining?” Molly squealed. More excited voices raised.</p><p>Greg could hear Irene’s “oh my god, Greg is leaving the nest!”</p><p>He laughed, his pleasure no doubt glowing in his face. </p><p>“How long will you be gone?” Molly asked, her brow pinched.</p><p>“From August to New Year’s. I might have the option of staying another semester.” He looked at Peri. “But I’m coming back.”</p><p>Molly looked from Peri to him, and then to Jo. “So, the same time that Peri is in France?”</p><p>“Pretty much,” Greg said.</p><p>“Congrats, man,” Damien said from the phone.</p><p>“Costa Rica?” Mario said. “I’ll teach you a lot of Spanish before you go Greg. Call me every day. And get Duolingo.”</p><p>“You bet!” He grinned. “I’d love it if you could help me with the language.”</p><p>“Yeah I can’t believe the guy, finally starting to understand French and Creole, and he decides to go to a Spanish-speaking country for this,” Jo said. She was beaming, though. </p><p>Everyone hugged him. Everyone expressed their excitement for him. </p><p>Again, that little ache inside of him, that had lain there since Mycroft left, became more bearable. Practically unnoticeable. Greg was buoyant.</p><p>And the sharpness of his mother’s words were dulled.</p><p>And Greg knew he was doing it right with his one, precious and wild life.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg attached the hose to the spigot, silently celebrating that the weather had warmed enough to be able to use it for watering the birds. The crows cawed at him from their mews and when he didn’t react, mimicked other bird sounds - the cooing of the mourning dove, and the hoot of a great horned owl. He smiled as he listened to them go through their repertoire. </p><p>The air was chilly, but the sun was bright. The gravel beneath his feet crunched with every step. He wrapped the hose into place on the wooden arm nailed to the building’s side.</p><p>“Greg.” Sherlock had snuck up on him.</p><p>“Yeah?” Greg said.</p><p>“I wish to speak with you. In private.”</p><p>Greg looked around them. The birds were mostly calm, aside from the general chaos of the crow mews.</p><p>“Okay. Want to go for a walk on the trails?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Can I ask what it’s about?” His body fizzled with the thought of Mycroft. <em> Is it Mycroft? What else can it be? </em></p><p>“Yes, it’s about Mycroft.”</p><p>The nervous fizzling in his body didn’t stop.</p><p>He drew a breath deep into his lungs, and tried to quell the queasy knot that tied itself in his stomach. “Okay. Let’s talk.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. The Spring Thaw</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We are officially ten chapters from the end. </p><p>I was convinced by a person who already lives in Friday - it's still Thursday for me - that it's time to post! X-D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>As winter arrives, amphibians in New England adapt. One of the most miraculous seeming is that of the wood frog. This frog hibernates on land among leaves, or in the crevices of logs. As the air grows colder, their metabolism slows. The animal begins to produce higher levels of glucose, which acts as a kind of antifreeze. As ice crystals form beneath their skin and in some of their organs, the animal doesn’t freeze solidly. The lungs stop breathing and the heart stops beating. It will appear cold and lifeless.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When the hibernaculum - their place of hibernation - warms to above freezing, the frog will thaw, and the heart and lungs will begin to work again. Like something reanimated, the frogs go forth, singing a furious song of spring.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock kept his hands in his pocket, the collar of his coat popped, and a soft looking scarf tied about his neck. He held himself upright and tall, just as Mycroft always did. </span>
  <span>It was an expensive looking coat, too. Entirely not appropriate for a nature center, but then Sherlock never seemed to care if anything got on any of his clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is where Mycroft differed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so what is it?” Greg's nerves were on fire, flickering all up and down his body in spasms of uncertainty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...missed something, when Mycroft visited for Christmas,” Sherlock said, his voice quiet. He sounded annoyed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At one point, Mycroft left my home to go bird watching. I know now, that he really went to your house. I believe he had finally found the mettle to speak with you, face to face, about your situation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our situation? The situation in which he left and then made no effort to contact me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft is unpracticed in courtship.” It seemed whenever Sherlock felt a bit out of his depth, his British accent thickened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s one way to put it.” Greg stared off into the understory. Rows of trees, brown leaves on the ground, granite boulders here and there, left over from a glacier thousands of years before. The things these rocks have seen - if they’d had eyes to see it. “So, he came by my house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did. I did not realize it at the time. But when I spoke with you, I was able to look back and recall the details that led me to that conclusion. I confronted him. In time, he admitted that he wanted you back, and had gone to win you over. But when he saw that you weren’t home, he realized he was on a fool’s errand, and he thanked the universe that you weren’t at home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because, coincidentally, I wasn’t at home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft doesn’t believe in coincidence.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg coughed. Shrugged his shoulders, even as his heart pounded against his ribcage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I may continue?” Sherlock asked in that condescending tone of his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I called Mycroft’s PA, Anthea. Without providing too many details, her intimation of the situation is that Mycroft has been unfocused, easily bewildered, sulky, and generally, a man bereft and bereaved. In short, he is grieving your loss. And she is concerned for his health and his work. She’s been covering for him. In some ways, it’s working out, because he is delegating more projects to his team.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about his big promotion?” Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t accept it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s...different. He’s not as devoted to the work. Anthea actually says sometimes he just floats about the office. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Floats.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Sherlock looked about them. The sunlight filtered through the leafless canopy. They passed spicebush in bloom - the delicate yellow flowers among the first to feed early pollinators. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” And he was, he realized. He bit his lip. If Mycroft truly felt that way about him...if he was so affected… But why? Why hadn’t he tried to fix things?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Greg wasn’t home the one time he decided to try?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On Christmas Day?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered Sherlock’s words: </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I expect he will make some grand gesture in a bid for your regard if he thought you’d accept him back.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It...reminds me of when his husband died,” Sherlock says in a quiet voice. “I was young and in the midst of making foolish decisions, but I could see his grief then. He pulled back from me. He pulled back from everything. But my mother harped on after him to pull himself together, and my uncle secured him a higher position for the Services he works for, and they pushed him out and about. And eventually sent me here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He eyed Greg. “For which I have never been more grateful, as both our mother and our uncle are deplorable people. My mother for her social climbing, and my uncle for his calculated consolidation of political power. Mycroft, as much as he has succeeded on his own merit, is indebted to them in some ways, and of course, he hasn’t escaped the notion of making his family proud of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg gritted his teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But even now, he has shut them out. My mother called me to complain of it - she must be desperate to have called me.” Sherlock laughed then, a small, deep laugh. “My uncle is apoplectic. Mycroft simply ignores both of them. It’s caused quite a stir in the family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mother knows it’s to do with you. She made some rather homophobic comments, and then she asked if you were in touch with Mycroft.” Sherlock chuckled again. “She’s so blind to her own hubris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not in touch with Mycroft,” Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he wants me so badly, Sherlock, a simple phone call or an email would have helped. What am I supposed to do now?” He clenched his hands inside his jacket pockets. “He shut me out. I would have tried. I was willing to try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you still have feelings for him,” Sherlock said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter now, does it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fail to see how it doesn’t matter. Mycroft loves you, and you love him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Action is what matters, Sherlock. Not intent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you won’t make the attempt to...reinitiate your relationship with him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He shut me out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure you do. I was sad about it for a long time, but now I’m angry.” Greg glared at him. “I’m angry to know that this whole time, he’s missed me. That he’s been hurting. But he’s made one attempt to reach me, and just because I wasn’t home, he decides that’s the universe’s message that we don’t belong together? That’s bullshit, Sherlock. It’s an excuse. Because he can’t face me, now, can he? He made a mistake, and in order to come back to me, he has to face me and his own bullshit. He’d rather be lonely and miserable. So he’s making excuses. And meanwhile, we’ll both be lonely and miserable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Except I refuse to be that way. I’m moving on. And eventually, I will find someone who deserves me, and who loves me, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>acts like it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Because Mycroft can profess that he loves me all through the rest of his days, but it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t do shit about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d stopped walking. Sherlock stared at him. Greg realized he was shaking his finger at Sherlock, and he tucked his hand back in his pocket. “Anyway, I gotta go back. I have shit to do, and this isn’t worth my time. Thanks for telling me, I guess? I’m not sure it accomplished anything. I hope Mycroft has a nice life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned away and walked back to the head of the trail as fast as his legs could carry him while still walking. He didn’t look back to see if Sherlock followed him or not. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg threw the rubber bowl on the ground, and scrubbed it hard with the scrub brush as if he might erase a layer from its existence. He rinsed it with the hose, and moved onto the next bird cage for the next rubber bowl to wash. He tried to move quietly around the birds, but he scrubbed the bowls with fierce, angry movements.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a fucking...fucking asshole. Both of them are assholes.” Then chastised himself for saying so.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God.</span>
  </em>
  <span> In some ways, it hurt to think Mycroft was hurting and suffering the way he was. But he did it to himself. He did it to both of them. There was no getting around that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking asshole,” he muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he got to the end of all the watering, and then he threw off his rubber gloves and dialed Jo’s number.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up? I’m on my break.” Her voice was soothing to his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry to bother you while you’re at work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sound upset. What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just had the stupidest conversation with Sherlock. Apparently, Mycroft has been fucking...</span>
  <em>
    <span>pining</span>
  </em>
  <span> for me. Not interested in work, has shut out his family. Not only did he try to come see me at Christmas, but he is, according to Sherlock, grieving the loss of our relationship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Right? Like, if it mattered that much to him, shouldn’t he have taken my phone calls back when I was calling him? Answered any of my texts? Anything?” Greg paced between two cages, keeping his voice low. “Nothing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nada.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I got zip, zero, zilch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. Right. Because he didn’t have his phone, right? Isn’t that what Sherlock said?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, he ditched his phone. So this whole time, I’ve been like, this mess on the inside. And yeah, on the outside for a bit, but now I’ve got it mostly on the inside. And Sherlock comes along and just opens me up, like an old wound, I’m just spittin’ blood everywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ew. Gross.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for the visual. But, seriously? What am I supposed to do with this information? Sherlock told me like he expects me to do something about it, but this is all Mycroft’s fault. He did it to himself. He did it to both of us. What, I’m supposed to just forgive him, get over what he did, and ask him back into my life?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that what Sherlock said?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but what else am I supposed to do with the information?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he say anything else? Like, is Mycroft thinking of reopening lines of communication with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg paused. “He did say something about him expecting Mycroft to make some grand gesture toward me...to win back my </span>
  <em>
    <span>regard</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never heard people talk the way these two talk.” Greg could hear the rustling of papers on her end. “Listen, I’ve got to go back in. If Mycroft were to ask you back, what would you do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. I’m sorry I’m calling you at work. I said I wouldn’t do this to you, and now I’ve gone and done it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a bit of an emotional emergency, so yeah. It’s fine. What would you do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg drew in a breath, and stared up into the underside of the tree that stood between the two cages. It was a tulip tree, and the blossoms were still closed. Tight. Unyielding. “Well, nothing. He hasn’t done anything. And I’m going to Costa Rica. I have plans for my life. I’m doing them. I can’t wait around for him, and I won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right answer. I’m proud of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too. Thanks for picking up and listening to me bitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anytime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hung up and shoved the phone in his back pocket. The eagle in the cage watched him with bright yellow eyes. “Sorry to disturb you, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valor blinked at him, and turned away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stretched his hands over his head as if to escape the tight feeling snarling through him. It didn’t ease it one bit.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg settled onto the sofa and opened his laptop. Scratch hopped up next to him and mrrped until Greg moved his elbow and the cat could curl in next to his hip. Warmth twined through his chest as he watched the cat close his eyes with a contented sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That warmth disappeared in a flash as a subject line in his email caught his eye. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Greg</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it read simply, the sender was none other than </span>
  <a href="mailto:m.holmes@gmail.com">
    <span>m.holmes@gmail.com</span>
  </a>
  <span>. For a moment, it seemed as if the world had tilted, as if he’d been dragged to another spot on the timeline of his life, as if the cold winter hadn’t actually passed into a cool spring. He was back again, in the crumbling decay of fall, his heart as brittle as dead leaves scattered along the dry ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a shaking hand, he opened the email.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Greg,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have written and rewritten this email for months, now. I realise now may be ‘too little, too late.’ But in light of a recent conversation with my brother, of all people, I realise that I must try.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What I did last year was inexcusable. Clearly, you were shaken and hurt by the revelations made by my parents, and when I should have reassured you, I did not. I should have reassured you. And yes, I had my own fears, but in the end, they weren’t warranted. I should have listened to what you needed to say after your walk. And I should have spoken with you before leaving for England. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is what I should have told you:</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Alicia Smallwood is a long time acquaintance. She is married. When her flat was besieged by fumigators, she and her husband spent the week at my London flat. I was not present, as I stayed in my country home. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Alicia attended the Mayor’s Ball with her husband, but we traveled there together in one of my cars. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should never have said the things I said to you. It was cruel. I was acting out of the hurt I felt at the time. I am sorry for what I said.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Since then, I have been haunted by a sense of guilt and shame, and I have been grieving. I know I made an error. There is nothing I regret more in my life than the way I left you. I cannot think. I cannot sleep. I am a wreck without you. I should have known better. I am ready to make the changes necessary to make it work between us, if you’re at all amenable.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If you would prefer to ignore this email, I understand.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I am at your mercy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>With All My Regard,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mycroft</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anger and hurt torpedoed the strange mix of elation and hope that rose in his chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the actual fuck?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Read the email again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked away to make something for dinner, but his concentration bounced around the walls of his thoughts as his insides clattered like pots and pans being thrown down stairs. His nerves sang with fear and with joy, dampened by frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked back to his laptop and began a reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He deleted it. It was too mean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, he deleted everything, and made himself pop a Benadryl and head to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the middle of the night, he woke up. He opened the laptop back up, and started a reply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mycroft,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I am also sorry for what I said and didn’t say at the time. You were never a stand-in.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This has been a box of darkness for both of us. I’ve only recently begun seeing the gift. I hope you can do the same.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Greg</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hit send.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaky, sweaty, and broken-hearted, he draped himself over the bed. He covered his face with his hands as his face grew hot with tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was for the better, wasn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had to be. It had to be.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why did you react unfavorably to Mycroft’s email?” Sherlock nearly bowled him over as they ran into each other in the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?” Greg’s back stiffened, and he clenched his jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft has never been so sentimental in his life - not even with the man he married! You are throwing it away, and he’s worth your consideration, Lestrade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg was thrown. “You don’t even like him all that much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know a mistake when I see one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock, you barely know how to behave around people, and you want to school me on relationships?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what I do. I have spent my entire life observing people and endeavoring to understand why they behave the way they do - and I understand that my brain behaves differently. But I have observed the both of you, and I understand that…” Sherlock deflated. He raised his hands. “Clearly, I am missing something here. Why, if you love him, do you deny him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate to sound cliche, but sometimes love isn’t enough, Sherlock.” His whole body trembled. “I won’t be a doormat anymore. I’m standing up for me. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.” His eyes stung with the forewarning of incoming waterworks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stalked into his office and shut the door behind him just as the tears sprang in full force. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddamnit, Sherlock,” he turned, and was shocked to see Molly standing there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Greg,” she said and grabbed him into a hug. “What the hell is going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg shuddered. “Jesus Christ. I don’t know. Sherlock won’t let it go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could hear him. What’s happened? Has Mycroft contacted you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Greg dug his fingers into his eyes as if he could halt the leaking of his tear ducts. “And he wants to get back together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molly squeezed him. “And you told him no?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed in on himself, his shoulders hunching, and his face covered by his hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Goddamnit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She held on to him tightly. “I paraphrased Mary Oliver to him about receiving a box of darkness from someone - and he’ll take it as rejection. And it’s a lie, Molly,” Greg said. “I want him back. We were so good together. And I do want him back.”’</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg spent the rest of the day in a restless malaise. When he got home, another email waited. He deleted it without reading it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He regretted it almost immediately after he emptied the wastebasket. He started to compose an email to ask him to send it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if he decided to try with Mycroft again, what about his new resolve? His decision to go to Costa Rica? His new leaf that he only just turned?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was this the old him trying to creep back in? That guy could barely make a decision, and he had clung to Mycroft desperately. Did he want to be that guy again?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But no, he loved Mycroft.  Wanted Mycroft. Wanted him like a plant needs sunshine, like people need air. Which scared him - he’d worked so hard, and had come so far. He couldn’t throw it away just to go running back to someone who wasn’t even a sure thing. Mycroft ran when he was scared. How could he be a sure thing?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, why can’t he be a sure thing? My thing?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurt his heart and his head to think about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left the email unsent.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg sat at his desk, cycling through his work emails. Calendar prep contained a lot of moving pieces: speakers, workshops, school field trips, campfires, canoe trips, guided trail walks, foraging...it went on and on, and had to be checked against holidays and volunteer days. The air in his office was stifling, as it was one of the first really warm days of spring. Greg couldn’t bring himself to turn on the air conditioning though, and he hadn’t dragged a fan up out of the basement yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The speaker on his phone buzzed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey Greg, can you come to my office?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” It was Henric.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, on my way,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strolled into </span>
  <span>Henric</span>
  <span>’s office to find Irene standing there. Her face shone with a barely restrained excitement. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henric looked ecstatic. Beaming. He stood from his chair and placed his hands on his hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Greg asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We haven’t even put out the appeal, and some anonymous donor just gave us twenty thousand dollars to cover the bird food,” Henric said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s jaw dropped. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And get this: they put it </span>
  <em>
    <span>In Memory of Tiny,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Irene said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, how?” Greg’s mouth worked. “How did they know? We didn’t even put it out there yet on social media.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were hoping you could tell us,” </span>
  <span>Henric</span>
  <span> said. “Know anyone with this kind of cash lying around? Someone who knows the staff?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. No. I mean, aside from some of the board members?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve wracked my brain,” Irene said. “I’ve made subtle inquiries. I don’t think it’s any of them.” Her eyes twinkled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know? Because I need to shake their hand and prostrate myself at their feet,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s face grew warm. “I mean,” he coughed, “Sherlock’s family has money, don’t they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes glinted as her chin tipped up. “Sherlock’s family, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, maybe Sherlock got the money. I mean, how do you not know? You handle our money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that would be Mike who handles the money,” she said. “But I did check, and it’s through some company headquartered in London. They don’t wish to be named, and they wish for it to be listed in Tiny’s memory. Interesting, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he said through clenched teeth. “You should definitely talk to Sherlock about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Sherlock.” She rolled her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henric came out from behind his desk. “Greg! I expected you to be happier. This is huge! We can still run the campaign, and use the funds gained during the appeal for next year. And if we can somehow cultivate a relationship with this donor in some way, we could be covered for years to come while we build up our income to cover the birds in the future. Isn’t that ideal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Greg said. He let the tight feeling in his stomach melt away. “This is...this is really great news. I am happy. I’m just...shocked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henric grinned. “Well, get used to it. Someone, get Sherlock in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irene rolled her eyes again. “Even if it truly werewere truly Sherlock, it’s not as if he would own up to it. And I doubt it was him.” She directed her shrewd gaze on Greg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t like it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m really happy to hear this. I’ve got to go back to my office. I’m working on the spring calendar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll look for Sherlock,” Irene said in a bored tone. She followed Greg out of Henric’s office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know it isn’t Sherlock,” she whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you do.” She shook her head. “Everyone heard the conversation between you and Sherlock the other day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great. Everyone knows my personal business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s trying to win you back!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He can’t buy me, Irene.” A whirlwind of feelings spun about between his ribs. Excitement. A softening toward Mycroft followed by indignation - did he think he could buy Greg? Sure he intended to make him happy - but like this? And to mention Tiny!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. But he can try to win you back through different means, and personally, I think this is a great one. He’s single-handedly solved an issue for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we’ll figure out next year! At least now, the pressure is off. I don’t think you’re being fair.” Irene stopped him. “Look at it from his point of view. He wants you back. He's going to do things he thinks will make you happy. He has the money. He uses it to fix something that you care very much about. He’s trying. In his own way, he’s trying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s it to you? Why are you suddenly Team Mycroft?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irene shrugged. “I know what people like. And the two of you were happy. He’s made a mistake. I doubt you’re innocent - and just so you know, you probably shouldn’t spend a lot of time on who’s at fault. Blame tends to leak and smear and get everywhere. You’ve both suffered for it. But you’re in love. Isn’t love worth it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. I have other things to think about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stomped into his office and shut the door behind him. His nerves jangled beneath his skin and through his solar plexus. He leaned his head against the door and thought of the email he’d left unsent on his laptop. Thought of Sherlock’s pleas on his brother’s behalf. Of Mycroft’s shattered face when Greg had told him to fuck off and enjoy being alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh god. What had he done?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mycroft was alone.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’d as much as told Greg that he didn’t have friends. Sherlock was here. He had a poisonous mother and a bastard of an uncle, it sounded like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No wonder he was a mess. While Greg had landed in a safety net of friends and family and grown in ways he’d never imagined, Mycroft had hurried back to England to lick his wounds alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumped to his computer and opened his personal email. Pulled up the draft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was it wise to offer to be his emotional support in some way?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shouldn’t Mycroft find a support network of his own?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg shook his head. He’d come to that later. For now, he reconsidered his email. Deleted some lines. Added a new one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mycroft, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let’s talk.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Greg</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. The Mourning Cloak in Springtime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps you’ve heard of a watershed moment? It’s a momentous period of time - it’s a turning point where everything leading up to it has occurred, and now is changed forever.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In ecology, a watershed describes an area wherein all water (rainwater, the water from a hose, animal urine and blood, groundwater, and so on) drains to the same endpoint - a larger body of water. The Connecticut River Watershed not only includes parts of Connecticut, but parts of states to the north - Massachusetts, Vermont, and New Hampshire. Not the entirety of these states - only those areas whose water eventually ends up in the Connecticut River. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And from there, the Connecticut River, and all of the other rivers in Connecticut, drain into the Long Island Sound, making them collectively the Long Island Sound Watershed. And the really cool thing about the Long Island Sound Watershed? It extends to Canada, and covers multiple smaller watersheds. That’s a large area of land with all these combining tributaries and run-off and virtually-impossible-to-count instances of water that all meet in one, recognizable, large body of water. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s the place where everything that has been becomes momentous. It has led to here: the turning point.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was early on a Saturday, and with Jo and Peri off at the zoo, Greg found himself meandering through the trails instead of in yoga class. Tiny green leaf buds appeared on shrubs. Soft, yellow blooms of spicebush peered out from the forest understory. Skunk cabbage poked through the earth. The little signs of spring gave him a sense of new meaning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d signed all the paperwork, had a physical done, and received an emailed confirmation after sending in the documents. He bought his plane ticket, and was set to go to Costa Rica on August 8th. A new chapter in his life was set begin in a mere few months.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft hadn’t responded to Greg’s email, and it’d been over 24 hours. Maybe he’d try calling him if Mycroft gave him a number. See if talking to him would be alright for his healing. He missed him. He missed the sly humor and the appreciative smiles. He missed that incisive intellect and the quiet shows of affection. Mycroft in bed, Mycroft eating on the sofa, Mycroft beside him studying an owl’s nest. It had been such a brief time in his life, and yet it seemed he was altered forever.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked along a trail divided by roots. Birds sang in the trees - some species returning from their winter grounds. A woodpecker drilled into a tree nearby. </span>
  <span>He had almost reached the meadow when he saw it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It flew in front of him in the wind-caught flitting that only a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lepidopteran</span>
  </em>
  <span> species can do. The mourning cloak butterfly. The soft brown of its wings looked dark in the shadows of the trees, but he could see the streak of yellow and the spots of blue. The butterfly landed on the side of a tree, and his heart hurt to think of the last time he’d seen one, about this time one year earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched the insect rest on the side of the tree, opening and closing its wings, until finally, it took flight again high into the branches of the trees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg walked on to where the trail opened out onto the meadow. And stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the edge of the meadow was a vision bathed in sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg blinked. It couldn't be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the edge of the meadow stood the man whom Greg loved in the deepest recess of his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft Holmes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic flashed through him and the urge to flee pulled at him. He couldn’t turn around now; he didn’t want to. Not really. A hungry, driving force reared up inside of him, pushed him toward the man with all the insatiable urgency of a wildfire. </span>
  <span>The white sunlight washed out the colors of Mycroft’s shirt and pants, made his skin seem paler than it was. As Greg stepped along the leaves of last autumn, he could see that Mycroft’s eyes were rimmed with red. Dark shadows lay beneath them. They held a kind of desperation that seemed tethered to a despairing thing inside of Greg, as if it could pull some dark and heavy creature from him into the warmth of the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg stilled himself. His heart jumped and thundered, pounding against his chest in a wild agony to embrace Mycroft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s you,” Greg might have said aloud. The sun, the meadow, even the butterfly. The only thing missing was Tiny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘You do not have to be good.’” Mycroft took a step forward and opened his palms toward the sky, as if to beseech Greg for an audience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg almost stumbled backwards. His body seemed to sway, as if it might collapse into Mycroft’s open hands. It would have been so natural for him to gravitate back into Mycroft’s orbit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he had to be sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.’” Mycroft’s eyes were wet. “‘You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.’” His voice was low, and his words were crisp and deliberate, but the tone was wrecked. Hurting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg inhaled, a great breath that filled his lungs, as his heart wept and howled and bloodied knuckles against the bony bars of its cage. He stared at the ground trying to hold himself together. When he looked back at Mycroft, the man seemed to be waiting. </span>
  <span>Greg knew the lines of the poem by heart. They both knew. Mycroft was waiting for him, his face a furrow of hope and pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is it. This is him making his actions meet his intentions. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed, hard, his throat thick and small. “‘Meanwhile, the world g-goes on.’” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft let out a noise that might have been a sob as his eyes closed and his shoulders sagged. His voice wavered as he responded. “‘Meanwhile, the s-sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Meanwhile, the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.’” Greg’s voice grew rough and low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Whoever you are, no matter how l-lonely,’” - a pause as Mycroft seemed to compose himself - “‘the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - over and over announcing your place in the family of things.’” Mycroft finished, opening his eyes and holding Greg’s gaze with his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s body trembled. His eyes stung. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have been...so lonely,” Mycroft said. A tear rolled down his cheek. “I-I thought I would have no one after - after Arthur. I thought I was destined to remain untethered to anyone, uncaring for anyone in a romantic sense. It sounds cliche, but I thought I could never love again. And I was wrong, Greg. I was so wrong. You have shown me how wrong I was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg's chest heaved; he gasped and looked away from Mycroft, screwing his eyes shut. His pulse roared in his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, now, I have been wrong twice,” Mycroft continued. “I was wrong to think I could never find such love again, an even deeper, more significant love, and I was wrong to cut you off as I did. You - you may not forgive me, Greg, and I will not forgive myself. I was wrong. I was so, so terribly wrong. And, I, I couldn’t - couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg tried to control his breathing. It wasn’t the jittery ice of panic, but he couldn’t seem to keep his breathing in an even pattern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought he’d be angry if he saw Mycroft again. He was so furious through the winter. He tried reaching for that anger, now, and there was only a soft burbling of it, dangerous but shallow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You - you really hurt me, Mycroft.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>You hurt him, too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did. I know I did. I was afraid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg relented, just a little. “Yeah. I didn’t...I didn’t help, did I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft shook his head. “I know why you said what you said. I will never forgive myself for - for escalating the situation. But - I will spend as much time as you give me in ameliorating how I have wronged you. I haven’t - I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, and the love you so freely gave. I was not worthy. I believed untrue things about you because of my own fears. But now, now I want to be worthy. I want to show you that I can earn it, and that I can be what you need. That I can be what you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, oh god. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Greg shook his head. “You are what I want. But it’s not that easy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I - I deserve no less than your complete rebuff of me and you sending me back to England with my proverbial tail tucked between my legs.” Mycroft took a step closer. “I spoke to Sherlock. He knows I love you. I’m in love with you. I asked him if he thought I had any business in trying to win you back. His reply was scathing, of course. But he didn’t say I didn’t have a chance. So, I’m here, to throw myself at your feet and beg you. Take me back, and I will -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want pie in the sky promises, Mycroft.” Greg said. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m too old for games. Every time you got scared, you backed away and left me hanging. And you didn’t tell me things that were important. It made me feel like we didn’t matter. If you want me, you work it out with me when we have a problem, and you share things with me. That’s how relationships work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s face crumpled. “I know. I’ve...bloody fucked it up. I - I don’t know completely how to fix this. I wish you’d let me try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t just you.” Greg closed his eyes again, one of his hands making a fist in his pocket as the other hand pressed flat against his thigh, anchoring him. Here was Mycroft, presenting him with exactly what he had yearned for for months. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Months.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “What I said to you last year, before you left. It was cruel and it was untrue. I loved you for you, not because you were convenient.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard Mycroft shuffle closer, and when he opened his eyes, it was to see Mycroft with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. “You loved me. Past tense?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could be angry. Greg knew that he could hold onto that anger and beat Mycroft with it over his head. He could enfold himself in it and hold onto it like a lifeboat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the thing about lifeboats was that their use was intended to be temporary. Eventually, a person has to leave them for land. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg opened his fist and stepped forward. He lay his hand on Mycroft’s head, touching that lovely auburn hair. Mycroft trembled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you still, Mycroft,” Greg said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft let out a sob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg slowly kneeled, gathering the distraught man into his arms, and together they sank to the ground. He felt distant as he did it, as if he were watching his body hold the body of another man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft clutched at him, fisting his shirt and burying his head into his shoulder. The front of Greg's shirt grew wet and hot. He still felt a little shocked, a little cold. </span>
  <span>But he loved this man. He loved this man. </span>
  <span>Tears rolled down his cheeks, burning through the cold he felt just a little. </span>
  <span>“It’s going to take work, Mycroft. I mean, you live in London -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t have to be that way. I - I’ve altered my position.” Mycroft sat up straighter. His gaze seemed to search Greg's. “I now work as a consultant, with my own hours. I can be here with you. If - if you’ll take me back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You...you left your job?” Greg said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s face was solemn, but he didn’t avert his eyes from Greg as he said, "I did, in a way. Though I set it up to mutual satisfaction I am... an important asset and so they wish to keep me happy. </span>
  <span>I had only to choose - choose what makes me happy. And being here with you, or anywhere with you. That makes me happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s heart fluttered, and he had to look away from Mycroft as tears sprang to his eyes anew. “You did that...already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I did. I wanted to prove to you that I could change, and that I was devoted to making this work between us. Have I - should I not have?” His voice was small and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovely. Greg forgot how much he had loved Mycroft’s musical tones and accent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg held him tighter, his right temple to Mycroft’s chin. “It’s going to take some time for me to trust you, you know. I’ll probably get angry some days. I still get angry and I still get sad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft lowered his forehead to Greg’s. “I deserve no less.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Greg said. “You don’t. Don’t ever think you deserve my anger, or my grief. I’m just...telling you, so you know.” He stroked that lovely autumn-colored hair. “I just - I am so glad you’ve come back, Mycroft. I’ve fucking missed you. I’ve felt so guilty about what I said to you that day, what I let you believe when I love you so fucking much.” The last word ended in a sob. “I was so mad that you left, that you cut me off like that. It really hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft squeezed him closer. It was almost painful. Greg didn’t care - he held on just as tight, if not tighter, as tears streamed between them. Then they were kissing. It was hot and soggy and the ground was uncomfortable, but Greg still didn’t care. Mycroft’s lips were dry and cracked, but it didn’t matter because they were warm and on his and it was </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mycroft - Mycroft - Mycroft</span>
  </em>
  <span> - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>echoing the hammering of his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they stopped, their faces lingered close to one another. Panting, Greg held Mycroft’s face in his hands, fingering the crest of his cheekbones on each side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t deserve you, I’m sorry - I’m sorry,” cried Mycroft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhh. Shhh, you came and did what you’re here to do. I’m here.” Greg found himself rocking them, soothing Mycroft. “I choose you, Mycroft. I choose you. The soft animal of my body loving what it loves, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft let out a wet and short chuckle. “It seemed easy for you. I didn’t think it would be easy for me, and you made it easy for me, and you scared me. But my leaving wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. You did what came naturally to you - to love. That’s why that prick didn’t deserve you, and why I don’t deserve you. But I will become someone who deserves you, Greg, I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg squeezed him again. “I know, love, I know." They stayed like that for a long while, arms wrapped around one another, birdsong and clouds overhead. When Greg's knees began to complain, he shifted. "Will you come to my house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft spluttered a laugh. "Yes," he said. "Definitely yes." They rose slowly, still holding each other as if letting go was too great a risk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got you,” Greg said, and Mycroft clung to him.</span>
  <span> “C’mon, let’s go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arms around each other and gripping tightly, they followed the trail that led to Greg’s house.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0042"><h2>42. The Turning Point</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Remember that watershed moment?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When everything that has led to this moment. And everything in this moment changes.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, tell me…” Greg faced Mycroft and offered him a glass of water. Mycroft accepted it and took a sip. “Tell me, what happened. I...I’m still having trouble believing you’re here. What made you come?” </span>
  <span>A conversation wasn’t what Greg really wanted. Every atom in his body was screaming at him to gather Mycroft into his arms again, sweep him upstairs to the bedroom and press his body to his, wrap him in the sheets and never let him leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that’s what impulsive, reactionary Greg would have done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was different now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would stick to his guns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked at the sofa. “Could we sit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Looking at that vulnerable face, he wanted to hold Mycroft. His arms ached to embrace him, but more than likely that would lead to the bedroom upstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was sticking to his guns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat, and Scratch hopped up into Greg’s lap. Which was perfect, because Greg needed something to do with his hands, so he scratched the cat behind the ears and avoided looking at Mycroft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew I had made a mistake when I was on the flight back to England, and I...in my bag was the book you gave me. Mary Oliver. I wept on the plane. Like a child. The woman next to me was quite alarmed, but very gracious.” He reddened as he spoke, and pulled at his collar. He’d removed his jacket upon entering the house, and was dressed in an expensive looking navy sweater. It looked good on him. Though he did look a little thin. Wan. Circles under his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, um, threw out the phone I was using here. I still had my phone for work. Threw myself back into my work.” He pulled at one sleeve and then the other. “It wasn’t so you couldn’t reach me, Greg. It was to prevent me from a moment of weakness in calling you.” He licked his lower lip and then bit his lips together in a grimace. “I thought that if I could make a clean cut, I would be able to go back to business as usual, and I believed you would be happy to be rid of me, and even if you did get angry and upset with me, you would eventually overcome it, and find someone new.” He looked at Greg with glistening eyes. “You’re an attractive man with an affable personality. It...should have been easy for you to find someone else. I thought...perhaps I was a rebound.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A rebound?” The thought was appalling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was trying to convince myself that you couldn’t possibly feel the way you do about me,” Mycroft said quietly. “It was...a way to let myself off the hook, I think. My mind engaged in a number of mental gymnastics in order for my ego to not have to face the mistake I had made.” He exhaled. “I thought I had made my choice. I would accept the promotion, excel in my career, and continue to dodge my mother’s plans to make me Prime Minister. But you were there in the back of my mind, a shadow over my every move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anthea...my PA. She knew something was wrong with me. She - we’ve become friends.” He said it as if it were very difficult to admit. “I don’t have friends so much as acquaintances, as I’ve said. But one day I told her everything. And she - she helped me with a lot of the grief. Helped me to parse the feelings. I went over details about our summer, and she pointed out that it didn’t sound like you were someone who just clung to me because I happened to be available.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand why you thought that, though,” Greg said. “I didn’t deny it when you asked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But the way I asked!” he exclaimed. “It was an attempt to bait you. It was childish. And now we’ve both paid for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, someone who considers themselves an expert on relationship told me that blame isn’t a good thing - it gets messy and leaks and smears everywhere,” Greg said. “And I’m beginning to see what they meant. I think we should focus on where we are now. Here. Some things have changed for me. I’m...I’m a little different now. More sure of myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft stared at him. Finally, he said, “Yes, I believe it. You are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’ve made a friend...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smirked despite his tears. “Yes. Even if she is my employee. We are friends. We even have coffee together, and lunch. She tells me about her family, and what books she’s reading, and… She’s really very delightful. And it was you...you who taught me how to do that. How to form a ‘Found Family,’ as they say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The urge to hold him grabbed Greg again. He shoved it away. “So, she helped you with work, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s eyes dropped. “I had difficulty concentrating on the work. I let projects go to project leaders under my direction, but my interest in them was passing. I was consumed with thoughts on meaning and life and...I found myself often going for walks in parks. Just to catch a glimpse of plants and birds and whatever other wildlife I could see. I...realized that I didn’t simply want to be a cog in the machinery - I am a very large and well greased cog in the machine, but it wasn’t enough anymore."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gaze was riveted to his lap. “I realized that I had been irrevocably changed by you. I saw more than a dead landscape. I saw life everywhere. I saw value...everywhere. William Blake once said, ‘The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing which stands in the way.’ I’d never understood those words, truly understood them, until after meeting you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg swallowed, kept his fingers moving through Scratch’s fur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The work I do is valuable because it protects life. But the day to day is dull. My walks to the park became the most profound part of my day, rain or shine, cold weather be damned. I found myself looking to the sky more and more, and wondering about you. What you were doing. How the seasons were changing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you were here at Christmas,” Greg prompted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I - have never been to visit Sherlock for Christmas. My mother was quite put out. She guessed at my motive - to possibly see you. She was quite angry, but I told her...I told her it was my prerogative, and that I had no interest in becoming a politician, and her interference with my personal life was not welcome.” He gripped his glass of water in front of him. “She’s treated me coldly since, but I have not exactly missed her favorable gaze.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you think would happen at Christmas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled, weak and sardonic. “I thought perhaps, if you were at home, it would mean that we were intended for one another. I’m not sure why I thought you’d be home. I’d assumed since you were with Jo at Thanksgiving, you’d have Peri at your place for Christmas. Clearly, I should have known you would have gone up to Maine.” He ran his finger down the side of his glass. “My cognitive functioning was - in disarray.”   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It fits.” Greg propped his arm up on the back of the couch, and leaned his head into his hand. “You thinking if I were home, it meant we were supposed to be together. But if I wasn’t, you could convince yourself that you’d done the right thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked at him, his eyes filled with a soft pain. “Quite so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What made you come today?” Scratch head-butted his hand, and Greg went back to stroking his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked down at his lap again. “Sherlock. He told me of your conversation with him, and of your recent changes regarding your new outlook on life. And I realized that I was letting life happen to me, also, and that if I didn’t act quickly, you might be too far from my grasp to ever hold again. And that thought hurt far too much. As if I had lost you to death.” He licked his lips. “The idea, though, that you were alive, and you were out there on this earth, and that the possibility of us being together was real...it made me realize just how fortunate I was, that my beloved lived still, and that we could be together if only I chose it - and convinced you to choose me.” He put the glass on the coffee table and leaned back, gripping his knees. “I realized that love and fidelity were actions - that you choose your beloved again and again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arthur and I were too young. We married out of foolish pride.” That’s when Greg saw it: the ring was gone from Mycroft’s finger. “I stayed with him out of foolish pride - a way to stand ground with my mother. I wouldn’t admit to her that the marriage was a failure. I’ve carried Arthur around with me out of guilt. I stayed with him when I shouldn’t have. For my part in the deterioration of our relationship. It’s true I was very busy with my work, but the promises of excelling in my career were alluring, and I treated him badly for it. It was too late when he died. I could never - apologize to him. I could never make it right by letting him go.  I didn’t do right by him. So, I carried him around, my cross to bear, and swore not to get involved again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was so painful to lose him, and we were at an end.” Mycroft looked at Scratch, curled in Greg’s lap. “But you. You are alive. And here I was, carrying around this book, reading and rereading even though I know it all by heart. It seemed utterly foolish of me to make the same decision - take on yet another cross. But you were never a burden, I realized. You, instead, somehow, helped me to carry my burdens. You made things lighter. I...I made a decision to place you ahead of my work, and I’ve acted accordingly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted his eyes to Greg’s. “So I’m here. And I’m afraid of losing you to death one day, but the pain of knowing you’re alive and we’re apart is also unbearable. I’m yours, if you’ll have me. I will make you a priority, and I hope...I can make up these past months to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So...you didn’t get my email, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s eyes widened. “Your email?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Saying we should talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s head dropped into his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg eased Scratch from his lap, which the cat took with surprisingly good grace. He slid over and pulled Mycroft into his arms. “Listen. At first, I didn’t really think of things from your side. How lonely you must have been all those years, and how frightening it must have been to find yourself...in love with someone new. You’re...really smart, but you’re also kind of an idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft barked out a thin, wet laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Life is...well...you know </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Summer Day</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Greg said. “‘I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass. How to kneel in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Tell me, what is it you plan to do, with your one wild and precious life?’” Mycroft finished. “Yes. Exactly. Those words kept cycling over and over in my head.” He pushed his face into Greg’s chest and clutched his shirt. Greg hugged him tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are things I have to tell you,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft pulled back to look at him. “If you’ve...been with other people - it’s not my business. But I don’t wish to know, either.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I haven’t been with anyone. Haven’t wanted to.” He brushed his hand over Mycroft’s cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Relief slipped into Mycroft’s posture. “Then, what is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I accepted a job in Costa Rica. For a few months. August to New Year’s, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Mycroft said. “I’m...surprised. I would have thought you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m feeling a little stale here. So, part of my taking life by the reins outlook was to find a seasonal job in another country.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled thinly. “You did once mention that you wanted to see Costa Rica.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’ve been...really excited about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s lips flattened as he pressed them together and nodded. “As you should be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I want to make this work with you, Mycroft. But, I’m doing this. I’m going to Costa Rica.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft met his gaze. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of stopping you, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or pleased. Of course Mycroft wouldn’t stop him - and of course he didn’t want to be stopped. But some part of him still thought Mycroft should be more upset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But why? Mycroft was trying to be supportive of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Grow up and get over it, Greg.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry if it complicates things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already complicated things. I am prepared to stay in the US for the next few months. And then I shall return to London while you go to Costa Rica.” He stared at Greg’s lips as he spoke. “If we can...reconnect after this, after I made the mistake of leaving you...then I believe we can get through a few months of you completing a lifelong dream.” And then he looked up at Greg, with a small, hopeful smile. “And then, if you’d like to travel, I should like to have the honor of taking you places.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg smiled. “Yes. Let’s do that.” Not able to hold back any longer, he leaned in to capture Mycroft’s lips in his until he moved against him with a desperate moan. He yanked Mycroft into his lap so the man would bracket his thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Greg, please -" Mycroft said between devouring kisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes," Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now. Now he could follow his impulse, and take this impossible man to bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They hadn’t lost their compatibility in the bedroom. Mycroft was desperate, clinging, seemingly near tears the entire time. Greg poured his own acute emotions into his kisses as they grasped and rutted. It wasn’t long before they were nude and on top of Greg’s sheets, Mycroft facedown in a pillow with a second pillow beneath his cock. He rocked his hips as Greg got out the lube and slicked both of them up. He moved slowly, in tiny increments, as he felt Mycroft’s muscles bear down on him. When the glans of his cock popped past the tight ring of muscle, he moaned with pleasure and Mycroft gasped beneath him. And then he was surprised by Mycroft arching his back, shoving his ass onto Greg’s cock in a way that must have hurt him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Slow it down, My, slow it down,” Greg said. “I love you. I don’t want to hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft shuddered and buried his face into the pillow. Greg enveloped him with his torso and his arms, and kissed along his shoulder blades as Mycroft writhed beneath him. The velvety heat of Mycroft around his cock was heaven. The fact that this man was below him, accepting him, striving to prove his love - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Greg didn’t want him to prove his love through carnal surrender. Mycroft moved like a man in despair - fiercely wanting, grasping, seeking relief. Greg bit his shoulder gently. “Mycroft?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft let out a sob. Greg could see now that the pillow was wet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Turn around, I want to see your face.” He pulled out and held himself up so that Mycroft could roll over below him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft covered his eyes with one hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, you can hide if you like. It’s okay.” He sat back on his heels as he helped Mycroft position his hips atop the pillow, and slid, slowly, back in. He wrapped Mycroft’s legs around his waist as he leaned over and kissed the man on his soft and bitten mouth, bending his body in order to reach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just - I can’t believe this is happening. I don’t know why I’m such a mess,” Mycroft gasped out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg cupped his cheek. Stroked his thumb along it. “It’s okay. Do you love me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too.” Greg thrusts were slow and gentle. “Of course I’d want you back. You’re so special to me. Thank you a thousand times for coming back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, please, make it last, I don’t want this to end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a new beginning, My. Our beginning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s face furrowed and he cried out - small, choked cries, as Greg began to speed up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s beautiful.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s mine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The sex didn’t last that much longer, but they held each other, kissed, made promises, whispered forgiveness, and teased. Greg’s favorite part though was when he’d left the bed for a snack, and upon his return tripped over the edge of the rug and fell part way onto the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Mycroft laughed. He asked Greg if he needed help between spurts of giggles. It was sweet, and it was contagious, as Greg joined in. He crawled onto the bed and collapsed into Mycroft’s arms, their tired bodies shaking with laughter.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0043"><h2>43. A Sun-Filled Morning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Autumnal senescence is easily seen in the garden or meadow - the plants die back to the ground, and we mourn the loss of colorful blooms and green dressing. Beneath it all, though, a perennial awakening is taking place. Roots in perennial plants store energy to last the cold months. Seeds lie in wait for the conditions of germination and growth. When we look out on the brown detritus of a winter bed of plants, below it, life awaits still, packed tight in the darkness, ready to burst forth with the spring awakening.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>When upon waking he saw Mycroft sleeping in his bed, his heart jumped up and down like a small kid at Christmas. His auburn hair - missing his beard, and Greg had a few things to say about that - was gorgeous in the morning sun, with pale skin, closed eyes, a wide and warm mouth. He kissed him awake and they lazily frotted together until it became frantic as they chased their orgasms to completion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They dozed for another half hour before finally rising. </span>
  <span>Greg went out to feed Artemis while Mycroft made coffee and started up breakfast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg grabbed his phone as he headed into the bird mews.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hi. I have big news.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Received</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>???</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sent</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mycroft’s here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His phone buzzed with an incoming call as he pushed the door to the mews open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He answered, his eyes on the inquisitive bird watching his hands for her morning meal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, though he did feel a bit guarded and curious about her response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg? What is happening?” Her voice was insistent. “He’s there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes...he, uh, spent the night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you...are you two together now? What is happening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cleared his throat and tossed a mouse to Artemis, who caught it in her talon. “Yeah. We, uh, had a long talk -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before or after fucking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, you sound like Damien.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, before or after sleeping together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have you know that we sat on the sofa for a long while before we got in bed together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Making out on the sofa or what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jo. I’m not an idiot, and I’m not your idiot,” he said as he passed a second mouse over. “I asked him to explain everything. What happened last fall. What he was thinking at Christmas. What he’s doing here now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did he have to say for himself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It came down to a lot of things. His failed marriage. His dead husband. The fears that came from those things. His parents’ - particularly his mom’s - expectations. His job. The physical distance. I don’t think...I don’t think he’s really let himself have what he wants because of all these external pressures. I don’t think he’s let himself get close to someone else in a long time.” Artemis eyed him. “He was sorry, of course, but he explained himself. I understand him better, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t...this isn’t like with Jack when you kept trying to fix things with him, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a fair question. “This feels different. I don’t really know how to explain it. I’m a different person than who I was back then. Mycroft isn’t Jack. It’s...it’s different. Oh, and I didn’t tell you - Mycroft changed his job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. He’s working for them as a consultant now, which means he can do most of his time telecommuting, apparently. He had the opportunity for a promotion, and he turned it down. He says he wants to make me, well, us, a priority.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m...speechless. This is - it’s such a one-eighty I feel sort of spun about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now try to imagine what I’m feeling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sooo what’s happening now? Is he staying with you, is he just visiting, are you still going to Costa Rica, I have so many questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I don’t know how long he’s here for, but I told him to stay with me for a bit. And yes, I’m still going to Costa Rica.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do I tell Peri? Or do you want to tell Peri?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell Peri. And Jo? I’ll tell Molly, too. And Damien. And anyone else you’re thinking of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to tell Marcus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you can handle that one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed. “I guess I have nothing else to say except that you watch out for yourself. I don’t doubt that the man’s in love with you. I just hope he doesn’t get scared or whatever again, and that he treats you right. Don’t let him treat you wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t. I’ve...got a good sense of myself now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do. I’m glad. I should go now. Marcus and I have a brunch date with his mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh. Have fun with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She groaned. “Will it bother you guys if I call you later tonight to complain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg smiled, thinking about how once upon a time, he’d have said no, but then would have turned the conversation to his own troubles instead of really listening to her. “Nah. I’ll have plenty of time with Mycroft. I can definitely spare time for my best friend’s venting about her soon to be official mother-in-law.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks. Talk to you later. Love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you. B’bye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought about texting Molly or Damien, or even Sammy, but in the end, he decided he didn’t want to engage in conversation with them. Not just yet. He wanted to go inside and eat breakfast with Mycroft, and follow that up with more lazing about in bed. More discussion. It was a safe, contained bubble, and he didn’t want anyone to pop it with their searing disapproval - which was likely from either Molly or Damien.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because they care about you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He finished feeding the birds and went back inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft stood at the stovetop, eggs cooking in the frying pan. He turned to face Greg, and seemed to look at him with wonder in his face. This was not the same reserved, calm and aloof man from the summer. This was open adoration on his face. Surprise. Relief. Contentment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg longed to wrap his arms around him. “Let me wash my hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Mycroft said, and turned back to the eggs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg gave his palms and fingers a good scrubbing, under his fingernails, too. He listened to Mycroft’s movements at the stove, and then as he plated their breakfast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I talked to Jo just now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft paused. “Yes? How is she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s about to head out to brunch with Marcus and his mother. I told her to call me tonight when she needs to do a little venting.” He turned around and leaned against the sink, smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft put their plates on the counter. “And...I suppose you spoke to her about my being here.” His eyes focused on straightening the silverware beside the plates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s smile slid into a wide grin. “Yeah. I might’ve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If she’s managed to talk to some sense into you -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. She knows I’m not always a sensible person.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked up at him. He looked so vulnerable in Greg’s blue bathrobe, bits of ginger hair appearing over the neckline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her only advice was to make sure that you treat me right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s cheeks colored. “I shall endeavor to, always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe you,” Greg said. “Breakfast looks delicious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled, small but beautiful. “A simple fare, to help us keep up our strength.” There was a glint of mischief in his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg laughed and surged forward to hug Mycroft to his body. “Good. We’ll need it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were lounging among the covers, laptop at the end of the bed with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jurassic Park</span>
  </em>
  <span> playing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do love thinking about chickens as tiny dinosaurs,” Mycroft mused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg traced circles on a bare shoulder as Mycroft leaned against him. They’d showered again, brought snacks into the bedroom, and now watched an old favorite. They spoke a little of Mycroft time back in England. Greg told him about arguing with his mother at Christmas. Mycroft told him he was proud of him for standing up to her. Then he shared that he’d argued with his own mother prior to Christmas, and much preferred his time at Sherlock’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, aren’t we two peas in a pod?” Greg said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m happy to share the pod with you,” Mycroft replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Greg breathed him in, Greg’s shampoo scent in his hair, the unique fragrance that belonged to Mycroft’s skin. Tucked away in his bedroom with only Scratch to toss them accusing glances from his perch on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, there are some other things I want to talk about, too,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing bad. Just some things to clear up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pushed past him, gently, and paused the movie on the laptop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He faced Mycroft. The blankets pooled around their hips, beneath which they were nude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew a breath. Started. “When you said...when you said what you said in our fight...that you could have been anyone, and I basically told you ‘yeah, you could have been anyone…’ you were right to some extent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s mouth twisted. His eyes were sad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But then again, not. I mean, I want you to understand something fully. I was lonely, and I was desperate, and when you came along, I felt awakened in a way I hadn’t for years at that point. I was desperate for you because you made me feel something. I was just...trudging along, living a charmed life without having a whole lot of appreciation for it because I was so goddamn lonely. And maybe...maybe if it hadn’t been you, maybe it would have been someone else eventually. Someone I would have settled for, just so I wouldn’t be alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s gaze fell to his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But listen. I - I’m not lonely anymore. I’ve got an amazing family, with an extended family I never appreciated as much as I should have. I have friends, people who really, really care about me. Whose company I enjoy, and who would help me hide a dead body if I needed it. And most importantly, I’ve come to enjoy my own company. I...see myself as a person of value, who is living a life with meaning. And that hasn’t happened in a long, long time.” He paused. Mycroft looked up at him. “What I’m trying to tell you is that last summer, what you said might have been true. But it’s not true anymore. I purposely haven’t dated anyone because I’ve been learning to be me. Alone. And to really enjoy it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Sammy?” Mycroft asked quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy?” Greg said. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft drew in a breath and shifted on the mattress. “I...to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure what I mean. Only that I came here in November, hoping to see you. For Thanksgiving. Like we had...planned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, what?” Greg’s chest grew tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had come here to see you,” he said. “I parked at the building, and walked the trail to your house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why…” Greg palmed his face. “Why do you never park in my driveway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...almost anytime I came to see you, I needed the walk to help keep my head cool. To keep myself calm and to keep my feelings under control,” he said, his voice trembling. “And that day, I walked so I could rehearse what I would say to you when I saw you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And oh,” Greg said, realizing. “You came...you came the night I brought Sammy here after the bar. The night before Thanksgiving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft nodded. “It’s none of my business, Greg, so don’t feel as if you need to tell me -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft, Sammy was so drunk - he apologized the next day -” Greg said. “Oh. Oh my god. You saw us at the door. When he kissed me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was drunk, Mycroft. He apologized the next day. But yeah, it’s not really your business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg watched as Mycroft fisted the blanket. “I know,” he said, quietly. “I only thought I should be completely transparent with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate that.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mycroft was here in November.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was here in November. We could have -</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait. No.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry you saw that and got the wrong idea,” Greg said. “But in a way, I’m glad we didn’t get back together then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I wasn’t myself yet. I wasn’t...who I am now.” Greg grabbed Mycroft's hands. “I like myself more now. It might not have happened this way for me if we had gotten back together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft met his gaze. “I think I understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you...you should know that I loved you then. I did. But maybe I wasn’t mature enough for it. And maybe your leaving was actually the best thing. Because now when I look at you, I can see you from the viewpoint of a person who feels good about who they are. Who feels fine without a partner. And then I turn to you, and I say ‘Hey, that is who I want in my life.’ Do you understand what I mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft nodded slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg sighed, laying a hand on Mycroft’s arm. “I am sorry it was hard for you, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did it to myself. And apparently, you turned out to be the more mature of the two of us.” Mycroft smiled weakly. “I tried to put myself above you in that. It turns out I am the weaker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pulled Mycroft into his arms. “Not weaker. Not weaker at all. We...we both learned things, I think. Right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also, I’m shocked about your brother playing Cupid. Obviously, he must like the two of us together. He knows it means you’re here in the same country as him, and yet he did everything he could - in his Sherlockian way - to bring us together. He must think better of you than we thought, and he must think what we have is pretty special.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled into Greg’s shoulder. He pulled back. “I’ve long assumed that he is a closeted romantic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you both are,” Greg teased. “Coming to see me like that, making a big production with poetry and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft buried his head in Greg’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve missed you,” Greg said. “But I’m glad you’ve come now, when I can look back on everything and say, truly, you’re the man I love, and the man I want to be with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft grabbed his arms, burrowed his head harder into Greg. Greg held him, and kissed his hair. "Also, I have to ask...what would you have done if - if it didn't work out?"</span>
</p><p>"I would have accepted my fate and mourned," Mycroft said.</p><p>Greg's heart squeezed. "That's it? What about your job? You made some pretty big decisions without any certainty of what would happen."</p><p>Mycroft gave a slow nod, his face moving against Greg's pec. "I decided part of my problem was work. How it had become my only lifeline. I decided that if it didn't work out with you, I would make more time for travel. Paint, maybe, some of the birds and the landscapes I've seen." He shuddered. "I would have been in despair, but I would have followed nature's wisdom - renewal. If I couldn't have you, I would seek solace in Nature as a panacea for what ailed me."</p><p>Greg moved his mouth to Mycroft's and stole a kiss. "I'm glad to hear it," he said, his lips brushing against Mycroft's. He rolled him into the covers and spread him out among the sheets as sun spilled in through the windows.  </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0044"><h2>44. From Mud to the Sky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>If you scoop a net through a healthy, leaf-littered pond, you'd no doubt find many creatures in the net - the larvae of multiple invertebrates, tadpoles, fairy shrimp, water scorpions, predaceous diving beetles, and so on. One of the things you may find is a larger insect with a mud-brown and fat body marked by two large compound eyes. The face may seem familiar to you, but you'll think nothing of it as you put him in a pan of water to take a look at all of your precious little critters.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This insect lives in this lowly, waterbound state for up to five years among the pond mud and the leaves, dining on other invertebrates and on tadpoles. It's a mighty predator in the pond, but most would call it ugly and flick it away in disgust or fear. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then it transforms.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Upon adulthood, this little miscreant crawls out of the water onto a reed, splits the exoskeleton its been living in, and emerges with an extended thorax and abdomen. Perhaps more astonishingly, it has also grown a set of long, gossamer wings. It can range in color from shimmering sapphire blue to an astonishing fiery red. It flies through the air, and when we see it, we shout, "Oh look! A dragonfly!" And we're often fascinated as we watch them glide through the air.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A dragonfly. And in popular folklore and literature, dragonflies often signify wisdom, whimsy, change, and adaptability. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mycroft had been staying with him for six days when Jo and Peri came for dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Work went as usual - though he’d had to withstand plenty of questioning from Molly, who was in a tizzy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Greg,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she’d said. She had tossed her ponytail over her shoulder, and began recounting the ways Greg had grieved over the loss. Greg leaned back and listened. He smiled, knowing she did this because she cared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate you looking out for me. I can handle it this time,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what about Costa Rica?” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still going.” He fiddled with a pen as he looked out the window. “You know, if we can get through this shit we just went through, I think we can make it another few months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowned. “Okay. But I hope you know that we’ll all kill him if he hurts you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grinned. “Thanks. You’re the best.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sammy had shared a small, sad smile with him. It hurt to see it. It was obvious that Sammy missed Andy, but he wasn’t putting up with it any more. “Onto greener pastures,” he’d said one day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Mycroft had dropped by to see the birds in the exhibit, Molly’d given him an icy hello and glared at him. Mycroft withstood it with good grace, and said that he was glad Greg had such protective friends. Sammy had greeted him with a big smile, and Mycroft had seemed grateful to him for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now, as Greg finalized the touches on a vegetarian Shepherd’s Pie, he worried. Jo had been mostly accepting, and Peri had been surprised and then said nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Mycroft - he was opening and closing his fists, tapping his thighs in some slow tempo that was suggestive of piano scales. He glanced out the window now and again, enough that Scratch hopped up on the sill and looked out, as if to catch a glimpse of whatever had Mycroft’s attention. His shirt was buttoned up to his neck, and he would have worn a waistcoat if it hadn’t been for the warm day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg slid his arms around his waist, careful not to disrupt the crisp, ironed-into-oblivion shirt. “Hey. It’s going to be okay.” He kissed the lobe of his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft let out a breath. “You would know better than I, certainly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Jo knows you make me happy. That you’re going to work to continue to make me happy.” He nuzzled the side of his neck. “And I’m going to make you happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And your daughter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She likes that clown Marcus. If he can win her over, you can win her over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled. “Greg, your humor is very refreshing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t stress. Why don’t you go get out the plates? It’ll give you something to do.” He’d noticed Mycroft tended to set himself to deliberate, methodical tasks that appealed to his meticulous nature when he needed to self-soothe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was moments later when Jo drove up - but then Greg could see that it was Peri in the driver’s seat. He opened the front door, breathing in the fresh air of a gorgeous spring day. The sun was warm on his forearms. “Hey! I see you got to go pick up your permit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri got out of the driver’s seat with a wide smile. “Yeah. Got it this morning!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re already out driving on the road?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo smiled as she balanced a large bowl in her hands. “We’ve been practicing in parking lots for a month, as you well know, and I thought it would be nice for her to drive the ten minutes on the back roads to here. Stop signs only. Very few other cars.” She winked at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I did just fine, right?” Peri said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did wonderfully, though your foot is a little heavy on the gas at times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not want to hear that.” Greg accepted the bowl from Jo and led them inside the house. “Mycroft’s just setting the picnic table.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo gave him an inscrutable look, but didn’t remark on Mycroft. Instead, she said, “I made an arugula salad with a lemon vinaigrette dressing and chopped asparagus. Hope it goes with whatever you made.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shepherd’s Pie. With purple potatoes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fun.” She stood with her hands on her hips. Her gaze lifted to Mycroft when he entered the kitchen. “Hi, Mycroft,” she said, with a polite tone, but Greg could see a twinkle in her eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jo. It’s good to see you again. Peri, you as well.” Mycroft gestured to the bottle of white on the counter. “May I offer you a glass?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Peri quipped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha. I’d love a glass, Mycroft. And I suppose you could pour this one a half glass - and that’s it,” Jo said, giving Peri a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri just smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft poured each of them a glass - with a half glass for Peri - and passed it around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo held hers aloft. “To brighter futures.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled, relief showing in the softness around his eyes. Greg placed a hand at the small of his back. They lifted their glasses in the air, and clinked them together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the Shepherd’s Pie is already done, so let’s dig in.” There was a flurry of activity as the trivets and the Dutch oven were brought outdoors to place on the table. Peri filled the water glasses and they all sat down with their wine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo gave Mycroft a sidelong glance as she sat. “I want to thank you for your donation to High Point Nature Preserve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg put his cup down so hard it sloshed over the edges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft settled his hands in his lap. “I understand how it could be perceived, but please know that I never donated in hopes of securing Greg’s affections. Tiny made an impression on me, as did the High Point Nature Preserve overall. It was my pleasure to give aid to something dear to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo smiled at Greg, who shook his head at her but smiled. He’d been thinking of asking Mycroft about it, but hadn’t yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are the wedding plans?” Mycroft asked, almost tentatively. Greg placed his hand on his thigh and gave it a squeeze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only a couple months to go, and then it’s here,” she said. “I guess less than two months! Oh my god. I’m about ready to elope and call it done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grams would kill you,” Peri said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg served the Shepherd's Pie onto plates. Jo served the salad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, and so would Marcus’ mom.” Jo rolled her eyes. “But this is supposed to be our day, and it’s crazy how much other people will demand of you - like it’s their day or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would support you in eloping, but only in secret. I don’t want your mom to know. I like to be in her good graces,” Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t we all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri chuckled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Peri, I understand that you will be spending a semester abroad,” Mycroft said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri leveled a look at him. “Yeah. For French class. I’m sure Dad’s already told you about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must be quite excited.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hardness formed in her eyes. Greg held his breath. “Have you been?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite a few times. Sherlock and I have family there. Beautiful countryside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why you speak the language.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oui.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Pourquoi as-tu quitté mon père</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo’s head whipped to face Peri. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Peregrine.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg suddenly wished he had tried harder to learn French while hanging out with Jo’s family. He understood bits of it, but not enough to figure out what Peri had asked so quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked down at his plate, and answered, in a quiet voice, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>J’avais peur.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri didn’t look convinced, but Jo’s face softened. She grabbed Peri’s hand, and sent her an admonishing look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg cleared his throat. “Peri, I’m sure you mean well, but please remember, Mycroft is my guest.” He looked at Mycroft. “And my partner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft shook his head. “She’s right to question me, Greg. You are a very fortunate man to have so many who love you so much, who will step up to fight battles on your behalf.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri glanced at Greg with defiance in her eyes. Greg nodded at her. “Fair enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached over and grabbed Peri’s hand, the one Jo wasn’t holding. “I am fortunate.” He smiled at her. The look in her eyes softened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he took Mycroft’s hand. “Very fortunate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled at him, seemingly grateful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It came as a surprise when Jo took Mycroft’s other hand, and the four of them sat at the table like that, a ring of people holding hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo smiled at Mycroft. “We’re glad you’re back, Mycroft.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft lowered his head, though Greg caught the glimmer in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He met Jo’s gaze and shared a smile. Then he looked at Peri, who seemed to be relaxing, her face shortening with a hint of a smile. When she nodded at him, he felt as if the circuit had completed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was his. This was family.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The barred owls were back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri stood quietly atop a log a few feet away, fiddling with the straps of her binoculars. Mycroft stood next to Greg, a slight smile on his lips as the three of them watched the tree with the hollow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, each year, the male and the female meet here, in the same territory, to raise another brood,” Mycroft whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So they do mate for life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems so.” Greg shifted closer, so their shoulders touched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remarkable. And if one of them doesn’t appear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then the one who does come here will find a new mate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile slipped from Mycroft’s face. Greg took his hand. “It only happens if one of them is injured or dead, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” The look on his face was grim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was remarkable, the small changes in this man. He was vulnerable. He let his feelings show. He let Greg see him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I should have thanked you for the donation before Jo brought it up. I just...I was hesitant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no need to apologize, Greg. I meant what I said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a lot of money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can afford it, and it’s a worthy cause.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg blinked as tears sprang to his eyes. He nuzzled against Mycroft’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hiss from Peri snagged his attention, with a gasp from Mycroft. Greg focused on the tree, where, in the opening, an owl perched, its eyes like two black pools gazing at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes, and I know this is but whimsy, I feel as if they’re capturing my soul with that stare,” Mycroft whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg held in his laughter, and gripped Mycroft’s hand tighter. He was going to lift his binoculars to further examine the bird, but instead, he found himself content to stand there, hand in hand with his lover.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been one month since Mycroft came, and neither man spoke of him staying elsewhere but Greg’s house. He set up his laptop in Greg’s office, which was rarely used anyway. Greg heard him often on the phone early in the morning, sometimes speaking in multiple languages. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was washing up his breakfast dishes and getting his bag for work together when a car pulled up in his driveway. The plate said Maine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A familiar face emerged from the driver’s seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg threw open the door. “Nate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Uncle Greg.” His face was white and the muscles around his eyes looked tight. His curls were a mess, and he kept licking his lips. “Um, I...uh, I didn’t really know where else to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” Greg crossed over the small bit of lawn to reach him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh...I told my dad I’m gay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he burst into tears.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In the conversation between Peri and Mycroft, Peri asks Mycroft very pointedly why he left her father. Mycroft replies with "I was scared."</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0045"><h2>45. Coming Up for Air</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi y'all, if you haven't seen, I've started a new Mystrade tale. This one is a canon-divergent paranormal casefic called <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099325/chapters/66171862">The Ghost in the Graphite</a>. It's about 83k words in 29 chapters. I promise ghosts, danger, and romance with our leading men. </p><p>Now, back to Taking Flight!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>The painted turtle is an aquatic reptile with lovely, painterly markings on the underside edges of the shell, and along the neck and head. Like all reptiles, they are ectothermic - meaning they can’t create their own body heat, and must gain it from the surrounding environment. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In the wintertime, this species (and other turtles like them) has evolved to brumate underwater. They settle along the muddy bottoms of ponds or lakes, and all of their life-giving functions slow down. The heart can slow down to one beat per every five to ten minutes. In that time, the turtle extracts oxygen from the water through its cloaca, or the vent from which she excretes waste and lays eggs. The painted turtle can remain in this near frozen state for up to five months. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>These sort of strange adaptations can be found throughout nature. Evolutionary progress that allows different creatures to occupy niches in nature that support the survival of their species. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And can you just imagine it, lying in the cold mud deep in the water, and it’s come springtime. You become alert to the sensation of your heart rate increasing as you float to the water’s surface and pull in that first, fresh breath of oxygen from the air into your lungs, your first real breath of spring - your first real breath of the new year. The sunshine in your face, and the world reawakening with new green of plants and frogsong echoing through the air. What a lovely rebirth every spring that the painted turtle lives, year after year, for around twenty-five years if she reaches the end of her natural life. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Can you just imagine taking your first, free breath?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg called out of work. He made Nate sit on the sofa with a cup of coffee and a marathon of </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Great British Bake-Off </span>
  </em>
  <span>on low volume</span>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember me talking about Shelby? She’s been pretending to be my girlfriend. She’s actually a lesbian and in a relationship with this girl Nadia.” Nate stared at the screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you met any other gay guys?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve gone to Flask Lounge in Portland.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The club? You’re not old enough to drink.” Greg winked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate laughed, his hands still wrapped around his mug of coffee like he was afraid of dropping it, but his shoulders relaxed. For a second, Greg thought of Nate at age five, a grinning scamp of a child who would grab a cookie from the plate and dash off before you could reprimand him for thievery. “I got in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Styxx?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It closed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? That place has been there forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate shrugged. “I tried to get in there once. I was sixteen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, don’t tell me that,” Greg said and clapped his hands over his ears. “Listen, I know you’re an adult now and you make your own decisions. But there are guys out there that would love a piece of you, and won’t treat you right. You’re young and you’re good looking, and sometimes guys can…well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m safe when I go out. I go with Shelby and Nadia, so I’ve always got friends with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Thank the universe for that.” He smiled. “I’m glad you came here. I’m glad you’re safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate lowered his head. “Thanks. Thank you for - taking me in. I...I didn’t know where else to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Greg said. He kept his eyes on the tv screen as he asked, “Does Evie know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I texted her to tell her I was here. She...doesn’t know the gay part,” he said, his voice growing quieter at the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Evie never seemed to care that I’m gay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think she cares about that stuff. I just...I don’t know...I didn’t really mean for dad to find out the way he did. I wasn’t...wasn’t ready, I guess, for the family to know.” His gaze skittered up to Greg and then back down to his lap. “Not even you. I thought for a while I was bisexual, but I just don’t...I just don’t find women attractive. I mean, they can be pretty. But I’m not - I mean -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. I get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A noise came from the doorway. Greg’s breath stopped for just a second to see Mycroft standing there, his top buttons undone and his shirtsleeves rolled up. He was wearing </span>
  <em>
    <span>jeans</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I intruding?” Mycroft asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile crept across Greg’s face. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Nate watched them with a smirk. He’d introduced Mycroft when Nate arrived, but Nate had been distraught and didn’t really speak. Mycroft had simply handed him a glass of water, and told them he’d be in the office. That was about two hours ago, he realized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come in and meet my nephew properly. This is Nathan Lestrade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s good to meet you,” Mycroft stepped closer to the sofa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Nate, this is my partner, Mycroft Holmes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you. Sorry to crash your weekend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is no trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate’s eyes flicked between them. “How long have you guys been together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg beamed at Mycroft. “I met him in April of last year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate cocked an eyebrow. “That’s how long you’ve known him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg bumped his shoulder with his fist and Nate laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft smiled and said, “I spent my entire summer here in the company of your uncle. Birding up and down the New England coast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Birding?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He looked at Greg dubiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. Have some respect for your elders. It’s a wholesome hobby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate snorted. His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and then at Greg guiltily. “It’s my dad. I - I’m not ready to talk to him yet. I know he’s disappointed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You can do it when you’re ready. But at least let him know you’re safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why I texted Evie. She told him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft cleared his throat. “Shall I fix us something for lunch? It’s twelve-thirty now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, please. That would be great,” Greg said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Mycroft walked into the kitchen, Greg turned to Nate. “So, how did your dad find out, if you don’t mind my asking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...there’s this guy I’ve been trying to meet. I met him on Reddit, and we talk on Discord and we game...actually, Peri’s talked to him, too. Over Discord. And, uh, well, he came to see me. He lives in Wells. I said I’d meet him after work, and he came to the garage. We were going to the pizza place after. Just to talk. But...he’s like, unbelievably gorgeous and we started flirting - none of the other mechanics were around. Then we went out back, which I know was stupid, but...it’s like sparks flying between us, which I didn’t really know I could feel.” His eyes started to glisten. He wiped at them with his sleeve. “And, uh, well, he wanted to smoke, he said, but I told him I wasn’t interested in kissing someone who tasted like an ashtray... that’s probably more info than you needed. But he kissed me. I kissed him back. Then dad showed up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg pursed his lips and nodded. He could picture the entire scenario - hormones running. Flirtations abound. A quip about a mouth tasting like ashtray, and the offer of a kiss pre-cigarette. “How did your dad react?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He, uh...just looked surprised. And then disappointed. I...I called after him but he left without saying anything. So I drove here but I didn’t really know what I was doing. I had to stay at a hotel last night because I was here so late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have enough money? Don’t spend anymore. I’ll get you what you need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate’s cheeks colored as his chin dipped. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s mind switched over to his brother. Dan had always been a little hard to read. Homophobic? Maybe a little bit. Greg had suspected it over the years. No doubt he was shocked to see his son kissing another man outside the garage. But did it really matter that much to him? Would he be like Brigitte? Seemingly indifferent but ignorant and riddled with preconceived notions?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It doesn’t matter right now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again, I’m glad you drove here.” He could hear Mycroft moving around in the kitchen. “So, uh, Peri comes over this weekend. She’ll be happy to see you. You’ll have to ask about the floor in her room, or you can be on the couch out here. Your pick. When she’s gone, you’re welcome to use her bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate worked his jaw. “I, uh, told Peri about me liking guys. A few weeks ago. She knows Jamie, like I said, from Discord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I still don’t really know what you mean when you say Discord, but somehow y’all are talking over it. An app?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please tell me Peri is safe while talking to strangers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate rolled his eyes. “Yes. She’s safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glad to hear it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft entered the room with three plates of sandwiches balanced in his arms. He placed them on the coffee table. “Nate, I was told you are an omnivore like the rest of us. This chicken was raised on a farm only five miles from here, which Greg tells me is more environmentally sound than buying organic chicken at the supermarket which could come from God-knows-where.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like Uncle Greg. Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re very welcome.” Mycroft handed Greg his plate. “Peanut butter and jelly for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know just how I like it,” Greg said as he accepted the plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ate quietly, continuing the episode of </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Great British Bake Off</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Mycroft eventually disappeared back into the office while Greg switched off the television so Nate and he could just talk - about anything. Video games, tv shows, this guy Jamie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo arrived with Peri shortly after five.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I drove again!” Peri announced as she entered the house. She halted when she saw Nate. “What happened? Why are you here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate licked his lips and nodded to her, his throat muscles working. “He found out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri glanced at Greg and back to Nate. “What? What happened?” She launched herself forward and grabbed her cousin into a fierce hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo looked at Greg, the question clear in her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate pulled back from the hug with Peri before Greg could say anything. “Hey, Aunt Jo.” He and Evie had been calling her that forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been a while, Nate.” Jo stepped forward and hugged him. “How are you? Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate accepted the hug, and nodded, his mouth a flat line and his eyes avoiding hers. “Well, um, I guess everyone here knows already, so um…” He looked at Greg as if for help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “In your own time, bud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad saw me kissing another guy,” he said in a rush of words. “I’m - um - I like guys.” He shook as his eyes brimmed with tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo pulled him in for another hug. She exchanged concerned looks with Greg. “That’s okay. It’s alright,” she said in a soothing tone as she stroked his hair. Then she pulled back and looked at him. “You staying here for now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him a big smile. “Good. Peri will be so glad to be able to spend time with you, and I know your uncle will, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” He swallowed and shoved his fringe of hair back off his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri said, “You can stay in my room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate nodded, seemingly unable to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, I can clear out a drawer for your things. C’mon.” She led him out of the living room, his shoulders bowed and his hands shoved in his pockets as he followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jo looked from Greg to Mycroft and back to Greg. The whole thing was like a tennis match as each adult regarded the other, all unsure of where the ball was headed. “Have you been in touch with Dan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet. He hasn’t called or texted. Nate told Evie where he is, but he’s refusing to answer any of his dad’s calls.” Greg gave a little shrug. “He’s eighteen, so I told him he’s welcome to stay. If Dan calls, I’ll let him know that he’s here and he’s safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know...I know Dan isn’t exactly forward thinking, but I wouldn’t have expected him to - let Nate go like this.” Her lips were curved downward. “Any idea of what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like Nate said, his dad caught him kissing another guy. He’s been struggling with who he is for a while now. Wasn’t ready to be out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poor kid.” She enfolded Greg into a hug. He relaxed in her familiar embrace, smelling of perfume and coconut sunscreen. “He’s lucky to have you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. He’s my nephew and I love him.” Greg squeezed her back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not everyone gets that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Greg thought back to his own youth. He’d had one friend. Damien. And that had been the only link he needed to find a world outside his own family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And start a new family. He hugged Jo even tighter before finally releasing her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me know if you need anything. I want to help,” Jo said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks. I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she said. “Tell Peri I had to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will do.” She left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg strained to hear murmured voices through Peri’s door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft took his hand. “I'll spring for pizza for dinner,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg took a moment to appreciate the firm warmth of Mycroft’s hand in his. “Sounds perfect.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg stared at the white, canted ceiling. Mycroft lay still beside him, but both men were awake in the quiet darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft rolled over to face him. “Are you concerned that your brother hasn’t contacted you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A bit. But maybe Evie hasn’t told him what Nate texted her. Maybe she thinks she’s helping her big brother keeping it a secret.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think Dan would be angry at Nate for coming here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t really know what’s going through his head.” Greg turned toward Mycroft. “You know, when we were young, we were really tight. He’s only two years older. And we did everything - went everywhere together. Had a big group of friends of all ages and we’d just run amuck in the fields and in the woods like a wild pack of coyotes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord of the Flies?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha. A bit, sometimes. But mostly, everyone was good with each other. Girls, too. And then we got older and hormones got involved, and the girls mostly hung out with each other, but we boys stuck together. And I didn’t see the girls the way they did, of course, and I had a little crush on one of my best friends. It was a really confusing time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft was quiet. Listening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I ignored it, and I followed Dan everywhere. I didn’t really figure it out until I was fourteen, and then I found myself whispering the words ‘I’m gay’ to myself, just to test it out. I’d been told it wasn’t the best way to be. I was under the impression that gay people didn’t get to be happy like straight people did. But I hoped it wasn’t true, and I kept it to myself. It was a year or so later that I told Dan. And he just...stopped talking to me. Stopped hanging out with me. Started dating girls seriously. Like he had to prove to himself that he was the straight one, and that my being gay didn’t taint him in some way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think that’s how he felt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. It was just...the impression that I got.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s hand slid over his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we never got close again. I left town when I was eighteen. And now Nate’s left. I don’t know what Dan will do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft’s lips kissed his knuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So...Nate can stay in Peri’s room. And if it comes to it, I can help him find a job in the area. Maybe he can work at one of the garages around here. He’s been working on cars almost his entire life. And...when I go to Costa Rica, he can watch the house and Scratch for me.” Greg stroked his fingers across Mycroft’s. “And when I get back, I’ll help him get on his own feet, and maybe find a place of his own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft was quiet. Then, “Should I find a place to stay while here? So your house isn’t so crowded?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Greg moved forward and kissed his hand. “No. Stay here. I want you here. And I want Nate to witness a happy relationship between two men. Especially one that has withstood the issues ours has had. He’s had...well, there’s my mother talking about how evil our dad is, and there’s Dan, who’s been widowed for a long time and finally got serious with a woman only recently. Those are his major relationship models. I want him to see ours.” He reached up to touch Mycroft’s face and hair. “I want him to see how two people care for each other, in action and in word.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft moved forward and placed his lips upon Greg’s. They kissed for a while, soft and gentle. Mycroft leaned back to say, “You are an amazing man, and I am fortunate to have you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s lips curled up in a crooked smile. “I am fortunate to have you. And I love you, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0046"><h2>46. Worth the Birdsong</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Many songbird species can be seen at birdfeeders, swooping back and forth, eating all kinds of seeds and suet. But did you know that in the US, 97% of songbird nestlings cannot digest seeds? They depend on insects! The perfect little packet of nutrition, in fact, are caterpillars. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So when we talk about native plants and “host plants,” what we’re often talking about are plants that caterpillars can eat. It impacts the entire food web! Without caterpillars in a suburban or urban neighborhood, songbird parents will try to feed their young seeds. The young birds will starve to death. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>People complain about planting plants that get eaten by insects. But honestly, aren’t some holes in the leaves worth the birdsong?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Things aren’t always perfect. And sometimes, that leads to a whole other kind of wonderful. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>A car engine roared into the driveway and cut out. Peri, Nate, and Mycroft looked toward the window. Greg put his fork down and stood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep eating,” he said. Mycroft had picked up pastries from a local bakery, and Peri had fried up some eggs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg stood in front of the window in the living room, next to the front door. Scratch sat on the windowsill. They watched Dan get out of his big blue truck and slam the door shut. He stared at the house, arms crossed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg opened the front door and stepped out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emotions flickered on Dan’s face before smoothing into his intense, bulldoggish stare. Rigid in posture, taller than Greg by an inch, his lips were white and pressed into a thin line. A baseball cap partly shadowed his face, but Greg could see the glint of his eyes beneath the brim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nate here?” Dan said in a gruff tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s inside.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan gave a slow nod. “Can I talk to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll ask him if he’s ready to come out,” Greg said. He walked back in, letting the screen door shut behind him. Nate stood in the living room with Mycroft behind him, one hand on his shoulder. Peri peeked out from behind Mycroft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wants to talk to you,” Greg said. “Now, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But if you do want to, I can go out with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” piped up Peri. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoever you want, Nate. It’s up to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What should I do?” His eyes were wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want my opinion, Nate…” Greg sighed. “It’s a chance to figure things out. Your dad hasn’t left the state of Maine in years. He came here after you. So maybe you should hear what he has to say. If you don’t like it, you always have a home here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate swallowed, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll hear what he has to say. You can come with me.” He didn’t look at Mycroft or Peri. “Just you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Greg said, and didn’t miss the outraged expression on Peri’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Nate walked to the door, Greg cast his gaze at Peri. She pouted. He shook his head, then followed Nate out the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan’s face fell when he spied his son. Greg had never seen him like that - his brother's eyes watered as they hit the ground and then looked up at Nate again. The corners of his lips pulled down and his arms fell from their protective across-the-chest position. He wiped his eyes with one hand and looked at Nate again. “Son, I’m sorry. Come home,” - swallow - “please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate staggered as he went toward his father, and Dan rushed forward and caught him. They clutched each other as choked sobs reached Greg’s ears. His eyes stung as he watched, his brother’s arms now crushing his son to his chest, Dan's face buried in Nate's hair. Dan's ball cap was half falling from his head of thick brown hair shot through with silver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate’s shoulders shook as he clung to his father. Greg could hear his crying, and then a gasp of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan shook his head and held him tighter. “No. Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re my son and I love you no matter what, you know?. It doesn’t matter who you love. As long as you love me and your sister, and know we love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate was full on bawling, now, and Greg felt as if he was intruding. He stepped back toward the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the same moment, Dan stiffened. He looked up, his eyes wet and red, the cap falling to the ground. He caught Greg’s guilty look. He still held Nate to his chest, Nate who was only an inch shorter than him, crying like a small boy in his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something was exchanged in that moment. Dan looked relieved, thankful. Greg could sense it in the air between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you’re ready to come in, we’ve got breakfast inside,” Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan nodded, stroking Nate’s shaggy head of hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mycroft and Peri sat on the sofa. They looked up when Greg entered, their faces quirked in questioning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything’s gonna be okay,” Greg said. “I think, when they’ve had some time, they’ll be joining us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri went back to picking apart an almond croissant with a pensive expression. “Is Uncle Dan mad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Greg said with no small amount of relief infused in his voice. “No. He’s happy to see Nate. He’s apologizing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked him over with an assessing gaze, and then seemed convinced by something. He wiped his hands with a napkin. “I’m glad to hear it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Greg said, though his mind wandered to another eighteen year old kid, showing up at Damien’s house and being invited in by Damien’s mom for dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one came after that kid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this wasn’t about him. He shook off the bit of gathered malaise, and sat next to Mycroft. His eggs had gone cold, but the chocolate croissant on the plate of pastries was tempting. He broke it in half and nibbled on a corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The expression on Peri’s face was a little sour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad Nate has you to back him up,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” she said, surprise evident in her voice. “He’s family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg couldn’t help the little bloom of pride in his gut. Mycroft smiled and touched Greg’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The screen door popped open. Nate walked into the house, his face puffy and red. “Um, Uncle Greg? My dad asked to talk to you. Outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Greg said. His mind threw up a wall as he considered what Dan might have to say to him. Was he going to accuse him of turning his nephew gay or something? Greg might knock ‘im one if he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took less than a minute for Greg to walk from the sofa out onto the front lawn, where Dan stood, staring at the ground, his ball cap back in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan seemed nervous, shifting his feet, straightening his shoulders like he was trying to come off as confident. “Thank you for taking Nate in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Even if you and I don’t talk…” Peri’s words came to him. “Nate’s family. I love him. And Evie. They’re always welcome here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan nodded. “He tell you why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. He did.” Greg folded his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I only found out yesterday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan looked around them at the trees, and then back at Greg. “I don’t...I don’t understand it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg geared up to give him the speech on how he didn’t have to understand it, just accept it, but then Dan continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He could have told me. It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan looked down at the ground. “Fine. I walked away because I was surprised, but I didn't want him to leave. And...I didn’t get it back when we were young. I didn’t know how to handle it. I was confused. I didn’t - I didn’t treat you well. And by the time I got my head wrapped around it, you’d left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I left three years after I came out to you,” Greg said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I was a dumb kid. We all know you’re the educated one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan scuffed his foot across the grass. “That’s about it. But now remember I got married and had a little kid, and you were gone. And then I had another kid, and then Colleen died. There wasn’t time to make it up to you, you know. I had my own shit going on. And I didn’t care that you’re gay. Still don’t. And you act like it’s some goddamn cross to bear and that I should be sensitive to that -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And now you definitely should be sensitive to that being that you have a gay kid up in West Bumblefuck, Maine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan glowered at him, his jaw set and his eyes burning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to be sympathetic about it on the account of his being gay - that’s who he is. It’ll always be a part of him, and it’s not wrong. But there are people out there who think it is wrong. And yeah, there’s more to him than being gay, just like there’s more to me than being gay. But there are people out there that will narrow their worldview down to one fact - he’s gay, and therefore worthy of their disgust.” Greg glared at him. “And that’s the part that you and mom never got. You thought I wanted special treatment, when what I wanted was reassurance that there was nothing wrong with me, and that if someone made a big deal about my being gay, you’d defend me. But you’d rather ignore it entirely, and that made me feel like an important part of me didn’t matter to you. I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you about Colleen. Mom told me not to talk to you about it. She knows you better than I do, so I did as she asked. But you know, you never asked me once in all my visits if there was someone special in my life?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan bit his lip and his eyes drifted to the tops of the trees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, you guys never ask me much about my life. And that started around the time I came out, and became even more obvious when I left town. And you know I had to leave, Dan. It wasn’t because of you two. I needed to find my people. You were already among your people, and that’s great for you. But you cannot begin to understand how different and lonely I felt, especially as I realized that I was the only gay kid in the entire school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan sucked in his lips as his eyes dropped to the ground. “You really felt that way?” he asked quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. It sucked. It was hard. But I started talking to Damien online, and it was like there was this possibility that I could find somewhere I belonged. Find people I belonged to. People who wanted to talk to me, who wanted to ask about my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan nodded. “Okay. I guess I can understand that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guess?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan tossed him an annoyed look. Then he softened. “Listen. I’ve been doing a lot of...talking to Nicole. She’s helped me - see things. Especially about Mom. I think...I’m sorry about how I treated you back then. And I think it might be nice to talk once in a while. Again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s heart gave a little leap. He chewed his lip, and then he said, “Okay. I’d like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan swallowed. Nodded. Greg was reminded of all his brother’s little quirks from when they were teens. When his brother’s voice dropped and let out the occasional squeak, and how he swallowed and went quiet for a while after. How easily embarrassed he was by things. How quiet he got when he was nervous. How seemingly stoic he was, when Greg knew that underneath he was a bundle of nerves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, anyone special in your life?” Dan said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg couldn’t restrain his smile. “Yeah. Want to meet him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan glanced at the house. “Now? He’s here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Greg said. “And I meant it when I said you could join us for breakfast. It’s my weekend with Peri, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan swallowed again. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prepare yourself. He’s British and...upper crust.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan rolled his eyes, but Greg spotted the tug of a smile at the corner of his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg led the way. It was strange to have Dan inside his house - he’d never been. It was almost like a dream - the floorboards creaking beneath them as they walked. It reminded him of them walking across his mother’s house as kids, bare feet slapping against the wood floors. The memory made him smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate sat next to Peri on the sofa, his plate untouched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Uncle Dan,” Peri said in a small voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan smiled at her gently. “Hello, Peri.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dan, please meet my partner.” Greg gestured to Mycroft as he stood. “Mycroft Holmes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dan,” Mycroft said with a pleasant smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan shook his hand as he cleared his throat. “I’m glad to meet you, Mycroft.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit. Eat,” Greg said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan sat catty-corner to his son in the armchair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was quiet for a minute, until Mycroft asked them about their mechanic shop. Dan and Nate’s eyes met, and they smiled as they started to talk about their common passion for cars and engines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg couldn’t have cared less about the topic, but seeing his brother and his nephew here in his house, reunited and laughing, made his soul sing. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Greg leaned onto the counter, hands flat on the surface, as he stared out the kitchen window. The stars were appearing in the night sky. Mycroft’s arms slid around his waist, and his breath blew humid on his neck. “Quite the momentous day,” Mycroft said and he kissed the soft skin of his nape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I didn’t see it coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel Mycroft’s lips turn into a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Peri?” Greg asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard music coming from her room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” Peri was disappointed to see Nate go. She didn’t seem to harbor good feelings toward her uncle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg was more hopeful. As they left, he’d told his brother, “Make sure Mom treats him right. Don’t let her ignore his sexuality just because it’s convenient for her. It’s not the only thing that defines him, but it’s part of him - he shouldn’t be made to feel ashamed of it, or like he can’t talk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan glared at him for a minute, and then it passed. He nodded. “Okay. I will.” They shook hands. “The wedding. You coming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I still invited?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan looked away from him. “You’re my brother. I want you there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s heart had lurched and his own gaze shifted to the ground. “Then yeah. I’ll be there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Peri, too.” Dan swallowed, and got into the car. Nate was in his car already, waiting for his dad to leave so he could follow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg went to his window. "Make sure you stop if it seems like he's getting tired at the wheel," he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nate had smiled. "Yeah." Dan had driven most of the night to reach Greg's house in the morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peri was not pleased to find out she was to attend the wedding since Brigitte would be there, but she seemed excited by the idea of seeing her cousins again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, here Greg was, standing in the kitchen, feeling a little lost. Feeling like that eighteen year old kid again, standing on Damien’s front porch, nervous and hopeful and like he’d left a piece of himself behind somewhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except he had this man at his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned around in Mycroft’s arms. “Thank you for being here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft touched their noses together. “I want to be wherever you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg kissed him. “Let’s go to bed.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0047"><h2>47. Nature's Renewal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Consider everything that has come before. Strange mating rituals that have been described in this space, strands made and snapped in food webs, behavioral traits in species that ensure its perpetuation, mycorhizzal networks that support tree stumps and saplings, and of course, watershed moments. Moving rivers and groundwater that spill into an ocean, evaporate into clouds, and rain down once more, on mountains and fields, only to run back into the ocean in time.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It's beautiful, and it's cyclical, and it can renew us, again and again and again. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Ready?” Greg squeezed Mycroft’s hand. </p><p>“Greg, I dare think you’re more nervous than I am,” Mycroft said with a smug smile.</p><p>“Yeah. How are you so confident right now?”</p><p>“I believe the ancient adage is ‘fake it ‘til you make it.’”</p><p>Greg barked a laugh as the door opened to Odette wearing a large smile and a sleek, flowery dress. “Greg, get in here! And you must be Mycroft! Peri has told us so much about you! My, how handsome is that suit!”</p><p>Mycroft had started by wearing a three piece suit with a tie, but Greg had made him get rid of the waistcoat and the tie. Now he wore a navy jacket over navy pants, with a sky blue button down and matching pocket square. He looked dapper and Greg would have preferred to just stare at him all day.</p><p>It was the rehearsal dinner for Jo and Marcus’ wedding. He’d have a chance to look his fill - at least three hours of celebration before he got to take Mycroft home and ravage him.</p><p>Greg guided him forward. “Odette Smith, please meet my partner, Mycroft Holmes.”</p><p>“We’re so happy to meet you, Mycroft.” Odette clasped his hand in both of hers. “I can’t believe Greg has been hiding you for so long. Please, come in.”</p><p>Esther popped up behind Odette in a tight, scarlet wraparound dress and flattened hair in a stylish bob, giving Mycroft an obvious once-over. </p><p>“Hi,” Greg said. “This is Mycroft. Mycroft, this is Jo’s sister Esther.”</p><p>“Nice to meet you,” she said with a squinty smile. “Greg, how’d you manage to snag someone with taste?”</p><p>“He has his charms,” Mycroft answered.</p><p>Greg rolled his eyes and ushered Mycroft out of the room before Esther could unleash her cavalry of snark. More family was assembled in the open, airy kitchen.</p><p>“Mycroft, this is Jo’s sister Mirlande, and her husband Hal. This is her brother, Michel.” Michel sat at the kitchen table next to an Asian woman with gorgeous, waist-length black hair. He introduced her as his girlfriend, Daisy. </p><p>Marie walked in then, followed by Laurence and Peri. </p><p>“Jo’s grandmother, Marie Viaud.” </p><p>“<em> Mwen kontan fè konesans ou </em>,” Mycroft said and kissed her hand.</p><p>Marie’s mouth dropped. She fanned herself with her other hand. “Greg! Where did you find this marvelous man!? How do you know Creole, sir? Peri said you were English.”</p><p>“Languages are an important part of my work. I’ve always had an ear for them.”</p><p>“You sit next to me at the table, <em> wi </em>?”</p><p>“It would be an honor.”</p><p>“Well, jeez. Three minutes in and you already took my favorite spot at the table,” Greg said with a grin. </p><p>“Don’t get jealous now, Greg. I still have love for you.” She kissed his cheek. He automatically wiped away the lipstick he knew would be there. </p><p>“I’ve never seen someone win over Marie Viaud so fast,” Laurence said. He held out a hand to Mycroft. “Laurence Smith, Jo’s dad.”</p><p>“A pleasure to meet you, Laurence.”</p><p>“Pleasure’s mine. Welcome to our house,” Laurence replied. He clapped Greg on the shoulder. “I’ve gotta go check on the caterers.”</p><p>Greg followed him outside. The yard was decked with streamers and a large tent with round tables beneath it. Jazz music played on a set of bluetooth speakers. A buffet table was being fluffed by people in black and white uniforms, while guests mingled at a makeshift bar, drinks in hand. </p><p>Tomorrow would be their second wedding in two weeks. The first had been Dan and Nicole’s in the backyard of her father’s house, in view of Sugarloaf Mountain. They’d gone with a sage green and peach color theme, and it was simple - Nicole looking fabulous in a short white dress with pockets and her hair in cascading blonde-brown waves. She wore a whimsical crown of peach colored rosebuds. Greg had never seen Dan smile so much, or look so happy. </p><p>Peri had stuck close to Nate and Evie, and Greg noticed that none of them wandered near Brigitte. His mother, after one startled look at Mycroft, ignored him and chatted with her friends. Nicole’s brother and his wife introduced themselves - Joe and Meghan. They owned a bar in Portland and seemed cut from the same progressive cloth as Nicole. When someone stuck on an iPod of dance music, the four of them danced together for much of the evening, until everyone was exhausted and heading home.</p><p>He, Mycroft, and Peri stayed in a hotel. </p><p>Dan had stopped by the next morning before he and Nicole went off on their honeymoon in St. Martin’s. He and Greg shook hands, and Greg thought, for just a second, about when they were teens and used to “spit on it” when they agreed on some caper. </p><p>Nicole informed him that she was hosting Christmas that year and that he and Peri were invited. He told them about Costa Rica. </p><p>He hadn’t missed the small look of pride in his brother’s face as Greg talked about getting to travel more.</p><p>Peri was now standing by her cousins under the tent. Greg introduced Mycroft to Esther’s two teenagers, and Mirlande’s two kids. Marcus stood with them, and two older people Greg guessed were his parents. </p><p>“Marcus, this is Mycroft Holmes.” </p><p>“Mycroft, nice to meet you.” Marcus’ eyes glinted as he took Mycroft in. His smile seemed genuine. “These are my parents, Rod and Selma.” </p><p>They all shook hands. “Greg is Peri’s father,” Marcus said to his parents, “and Jo’s best friend.” </p><p>Selma’s face brightened. Marcus had inherited her dark brown eyes, and her big smile. In her purple dress and side-swept hair, she was like a bird-of-paradise among sparrows. “Jo has said such wonderful things about you! It’s nice to finally meet you.”</p><p>“Yes, Greg, nice to meet you,” Rod said and shook his hand. He was quite possibly the tallest man at the party. “And your partner. Mycroft, was it?”</p><p>“Yes, good to meet you.”</p><p>“Peri is such a dear. You and Jo did a wonderful job in raising her,” Selma said. “We hope you don’t mind if we treat her a bit like our grandchild, do you?”</p><p>Greg looked at Marcus and back at his parents. “Not at all. I have to be honest - my parents aren’t in the picture, so any grandparent time she gets with you guys would be great for her.”</p><p>Selma beamed. Rod said, “Guess we’ll have to learn more vegetarian dishes.” He smiled when he said it, his eyes crinkling with delight. </p><p>“We got Peri demanding vegetarian alternatives to all our meals, now,” Marcus said.</p><p>Greg’s ears pricked up at this. “Really?”</p><p>“Yeah. Says she doesn’t want to contribute to factory farming, so if it’s not locally and humanely killed by a caring farmer, she doesn’t want anything to do with it,” Selma said. </p><p>Greg couldn’t help the feeling of warmth deep in his belly. “That’s my girl.”</p><p>“Sure is,” Marcus said, and Greg realized: he meant it. </p><p>The family BBQ went on like that. Mycroft mingled, always seeming at remarkable ease. He eventually removed his jacket, as the mid-June day was pleasantly warm and the sun shone as if it needed to show off its brightest rays. </p><p>Greg found himself watching Mycroft having a conversation about US politics with Esther and Mirlande at one point. No one was arguing, but it was lively. Mycroft was quick and clever, while the ladies were passionate and insightful. The banter made his head spin, but in a way that made him smile as he sipped his drink.</p><p>Odette appeared beside him smelling softly of cocoa butter. “He’s a lovely man, Greg.”</p><p>Greg nodded. “He is.”</p><p>She placed a hand on his shoulder. Her dress was a lovely shade of champagne, and draped her like the flowy gowns of women in Renaissance paintings. “I hope this one sticks. I’d be so proud to see you walking down the aisle.”</p><p>Greg whipped his head around to face her. “Excuse me?”</p><p>She pinched his cheek. “You. Finally walking down the aisle. With someone wonderful.”</p><p>“I, uh, haven’t thought about it.” <em> Lie. </em></p><p>“Oh. Well, I want the best for you. I always have, even at the beginning, with all that confusion over a baby,” she laughed lightly. </p><p>Greg turned sheepish. “Yeah, what a way to be introduced to the family.”</p><p>“Yes. But it all turned out for the best.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You know we consider you a member of our family, right? Even Jo getting married couldn’t change that. Laurence and I have long considered you one of ours, even if we don’t get to see you as often as the others.”</p><p>Warmth hit Greg’s eyes in a second. “I, uh...I didn’t know that.”</p><p>“It’s true. So we want to see you happy, and we want another family wedding.”</p><p>Greg ducked his head and closed his eyes against the rush of tears.</p><p>“Don’t cry, honey. Or I’ll start and then everyone will be over here wanting to know what’s going on,” she said with a small laugh. “I just thought you should know. In all this hullabaloo, we didn’t forget you.”</p><p>“Thank you,” he said tightly. “I love you all like family, too.” He’d been the one keeping himself back all this time. And here they were, maybe waiting for him to realize it.</p><p>Odette hugged him, and he sniffed, swallowed back his tears.</p><p>“Now go save that man before they start interrogating him on his intentions toward you. They’ll be getting ideas on account of tomorrow’s wedding.” She winked at him and let him go.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The wedding itself was beautiful, located at a lovely dancehall sat among the Connecticut hills.  </p><p>Greg watched as the newly married couple danced across the floor. The sun was setting in the large picture windows behind them, casting a golden glow interspersed with long shadows across the dancefloor and the guests. </p><p>Mycroft sat beside him at the table. Greg had opted not to sit at the table of the wedding party and to keep Mycroft company. </p><p>“They make a very handsome couple,” Mycroft murmured. </p><p>Jo’s hair was piled in braids atop her head. The wedding dress was an empire waist with a skirt rather like a billowing ballroom gown. The contrast of crisp white against the brown of her skin was breathtaking. Marcus stood a foot taller, in a silvery grey tuxedo and a mint green bowtie that matched the mint green of the bridesmaids dresses. </p><p>“They do,” Greg agreed. He slid an arm around Mycroft's shoulders, and leaned into Mycroft as the man pressed into him. </p><p>Summer was here. And in August, he would leave for his assignment in Costa Rica. Mycroft would return to England. It would be five months of separation.</p><p>It caused no small amount of trepidation.</p><p>“Hey,” he whispered into Mycroft’s ear. “Blame it on the atmosphere and the alcohol. But I have a question.”</p><p>“Mm?”</p><p>“Did you...did you ever think of getting married again?”</p><p>Mycroft stilled. “I - didn’t expect to have the opportunity again.”</p><p>Greg’s heart pittered and pattered.</p><p>“But,” Mycroft said slowly, “I am not opposed to it.”</p><p>Greg’s mouth split into a grin, and he kissed Mycroft’s temple. “Okay. Just checking.”</p><p>Mycroft pressed harder into him as they watched the rest of the couple’s first dance as husband and wife.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Okay, up one inch,” Greg said as Mycroft held the encaustic painting to the wall. Mycroft hadn’t asked him about it since his arrival. Greg remembered it and pulled it out of the closet where he’d hidden it. He folded the note Mycroft wrote carefully and slid it into a pocket in his wallet. Something to carry around with him when he was in Costa Rica.</p><p>When he’d come downstairs and showed Mycroft the painting, Mycroft’s eyes glistened. But he smiled, and asked if he could help to hang it.</p><p>It was going up in the living room where everyone could see it. </p><p>“Okay, perfect!” And it was - a little small for the wall, but Greg hoped other paintings would join it in time. The gentle blues of the bay at night were soothing, and the cadmium glow of the cottage windows spoke to Greg of hope and warmth in times of darkness.</p><p>Mycroft grabbed his hand as they admired it together. “I’m glad you kept it.”</p><p>Greg snorted. “It was a near thing, at the time. But the artist deserves respect, so I just hid it away.”</p><p>Mycroft lowered his head. “I am sorry. I wouldn’t have been able to halt its delivery at the time.”</p><p>Greg tilted Mycroft’s chin up with one hand and kissed him. It was warm and gentle. “I’m glad we can enjoy it now.”</p><p>Mycroft slid his arms around him, and teased the seam of Greg’s lips with his tongue. “I am too,” he said, and pushed Greg toward the sofa.</p><p>Greg let it happen, his smile transforming into a lascivious grin. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I’ve found a replacement for you.” Greg had been surprised at the words, but Henric’d looked pleased. Sat at his desk, potted plants gilding the edges like kids lined up for assembly. His smiling face bobbed over them. Maybe he was the sun and they were a forest.</p><p>“I wasn’t planning on leaving entirely,” Greg had said. </p><p>“Nah, he’s just seasonal. But his resume’s fantastic. Wilderness instructor originally from Canada. I talked to him over the phone. Apparently, he’s here because his ex-wife and kid moved to Hartford for her work, and he’s looking for work in the area. Told him I could offer him August through January, and we’ll see if I’m able to keep him on after. He might keep looking. I can offer him summers going forward, anyway.”</p><p>“Okay. Yeah,” Greg had replied. “And, uh, you might as well sweeten the deal with offering him up my place while I’m gone.”</p><p>“Thought you were keeping it?”</p><p>“Yeah. But, it might be nice to have someone living in it. I was going to ask Molly to take in Scratch, but I think her new man has a cat allergy.” It was a recent, and hopeful development. “I’d hate to mess that up.” </p><p>“Good. I’ll let him know.” Henric had dismissed him with a smile.</p><p>And so here Greg found himself, giving a tour of the house to the guy who was his temporary replacement.</p><p>“This here is Scratch. Henric told you about him right?”</p><p>“A cat?” John Watson was a short man with a sturdy build, and a head full of blond hair silvering at the temples. “He didn’t mention that.”</p><p>“Oh.” Of course he didn’t. “Well, he was here when I got here. Sort of comes with the house. Super friendly. His name is Scratch.”</p><p>John eyed the cat with a dubious expression. “He’s friendly but his name is Scratch?”</p><p>“Name came from the guy who lived here before me. Cantankerous old man who’d been living on the property before he donated it to the center and moved to Florida.”</p><p>John approached Scratch with a slow walk and held out his hand. Scratch sniffed it. Greg gave a little chuckle. “I swear, he doesn’t bite. Is this going to be a problem?”</p><p>“Nah. It’s okay. I’ve just never had a cat.”</p><p>“You know, I didn’t either before Scratch. I’m honestly going to miss him.”</p><p>“Why’d you decide to go to Costa Rica?”</p><p>“I’ve always wanted to travel, and not just travel, but to try and immerse myself in a country. Thought it’d be best to do it by getting a job. How did you end up in America?”</p><p>John smiled, but his overall expression looked constipated. “Got married to an American. Went a bit south after a while. She’s made the decision to move to Hartford for a job. It’s a really good opportunity, so I promised to find something in the area so I could be close to our daughter.”</p><p>“How old’s your daughter?”</p><p>“Five.”</p><p>“Great age. I’ve got a fifteen year old. Another great age for different reasons.”</p><p>“Huh. I can imagine.” His blue eyes scanned the room.</p><p>“So, I’ll show you the upstairs. Just one big room up there. Office and guest bedroom down here - though really, it’s my daughter’s room. I’m putting all our personal stuff away. I’ll keep the linens out, though.”</p><p>It didn’t take long to show the small house, but by the end, John seemed convinced that it was a good place to stay. </p><p>“How do you like working at the Preserve?”</p><p>“Been here over a decade, and I am going to miss it. The rest of the staff is like family.”</p><p>“So, Costa Rica is a new adventure, huh?”</p><p>“Yeah. It’ll be a nice change. Different landscape.”</p><p>“That’s for sure. Well, thanks for showing me around. It was great meeting you.” They stood outside the front door. John’s rental car sat in the driveway.</p><p>“Same. I really hope you like it here.”</p><p>John was courteous. Probably likeable. But he seemed miserable, even as he said, “Yeah. I’m sure I will.” </p><p>Greg wondered if it was the temporary arrangement. “I know you’ll probably be looking for work for after the season ends, but Henric’s serious about potentially hiring you if you’re good, and he’ll definitely have seasonal work for you if you’re up to it.”</p><p>John smiled, but again, it seemed strained, making it seem more like a grimace. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”</p><p>“Just wanted to make sure you knew.” He rolled his shoulders back. “Well, let me know if you accept the job offer, and we’ll figure out you moving in here and me getting on a plane.”</p><p>“Sounds good,” John nodded. “Thanks again.”</p><p>They shook hands, and John left. </p><p>Later on, Mycroft asked him about it.</p><p>“I don’t know. Seemed a little closed off. Maybe the divorce was recent. His ex-wife lives in Hartford, apparently, and they have a five year old. His resume looks great. Canadian army, wilderness survival, been teaching public workshops for years. I hope it works out for Henric’s sake.”</p><p>“Mm. And he’ll stay here? Look after Scratch?” Greg had been glad to see Scratch and Mycroft grow on each other. Scratch even deigned to sit in the man’s lap and receive pets.</p><p>“Well, if he accepts the offer, he has the option.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg eyed the growing schedule for the fall programs. John Watson had accepted the position, and it was up to Greg to make everything make sense for him. Schools would soon be lining up for visits on field trips, canoes and campfires had dates and times, and nature-based workshops for the fall were filling the weekends. There would be a lot to train the man on, but Molly and Sammy would be there to help him along. </p><p>Speaking of, Molly popped up in his doorway. “Hey, Sammy’s testing out the projector in the lecture hall, but there’s something wonky going on. Can you take a look?”</p><p>“Yeah, sure.” Dealing with electronics was one task he was not going to miss.</p><p>Molly skipped down the stairs ahead of him, and walked through the double doors to the hall. </p><p>He opened the heavy metal door and was met with a shocking sight. The thunderous cheer of “Surprise!” rang in his ears.</p><p>A crowd of friendly faces. Little shouts of “Congratulations!” “Yay!” and “We’ll miss you!”</p><p>Mycroft, smiling. And next to him, Jo and Peri, grinning ear to ear. </p><p>Molly stood with her hands clasped together, hiding her grin behind her hand. </p><p>Sammy stood next to her, his chin tipped up and his eyes fixed on Greg, his grin shining.</p><p>Reality rocked him. “Is this...what is this?” He ran his fingers through his fringe.</p><p>Everyone in the room started laughing. “Your surprise going away party, of course!” Henric boomed.</p><p>Greg’s heart did a flip and his stomach followed as he saw that HenrykHenric, Lisa, Irene, Kate, Mike from the finance office, even Tom the marketing assistant, were all standing there. But the thought that this was really for him settled in when he saw Odette, Laurence, Marie, Esther, Mirlande, Hal, Michel, and his girlfriend whose name he no longer remembered. </p><p>“What are you doing here?” he blurted. His heart was in his throat and he had trouble swallowing around it. He knew his face was burning red, and in his shock he hurried to Mycroft, Jo, and Peri - his family. </p><p>Mycroft hugged him and kissed his hair. Greg mumbled something like, “Oh my god, I don’t believe this.”</p><p>“Believe it,” Mycroft said. </p><p>He pulled back, kissed him on the lips, and then went to Peri, and to Jo, giving each of them a hug and a kiss on the forehead.. </p><p>“It was Mycroft’s idea,” Jo said, “but we jumped onto it and everyone here was happy to help.” </p><p> He had to make his way down a row of people. Molly. Sammy. Irene. Kate. Henric. Lisa. Mike and Tom.</p><p>He started crying when Odette hugged him, and didn’t even care about it when he hugged Laurence. Didn’t bother to remove the lipstick he knew would be there after Marie kissed him. Was happy even to hug Esther, just as he was happy to hug Mirlande and Hal and Michel. </p><p>It was more than Jo’s family, because then he saw faces he would not have expected.</p><p>Damien. And Mario.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing here?” he said through tears.</p><p>“You’re completing a lifelong dream, man. I’m here to celebrate that with you,” Damien said with a strong-armed hug.</p><p>“Congratulations,” Mario said, and kissed each of his cheeks.</p><p>Then someone was at his elbow. </p><p>Nate. And Evie.</p><p>“You two, what are you two doing here?” He wiped the tears from his cheeks and wrapped them both in a bear hug. Evie giggled, and he could feel Nate’s grin against his shoulder.</p><p>That’s when he noticed Dan, standing right behind them. His brother, with a soft, small smile on his face. Nicole standing beside him with a wide grin.</p><p>“Hey,” he choked out. </p><p>“Hi,” Dan said. “I was told this was a big deal, and that I should bring these two to see you off.” He stepped forward. Nate and Evie released Greg, and Dan slid into a hug with Greg.</p><p>They hadn’t hugged since adolescence. </p><p>“God,” Greg said, his throat hoarse and his eyes stinging. Dan smelled like the woods on a crisp, fall day in Maine. “I’m so happy to see you. To see all of you.”</p><p>Dan let go, and Greg watched as his big brother swiped at his own eyes. To think he’d thought their relationship a lost cause at one point.  </p><p>Nicole gave him a swift hug and a kiss on the cheek.</p><p>He faced the room to see many people smiling at him, Jo lifting the covers off of dishes laid out on the tables that must have been brought in, Odette helping her, Marie directing Michel and Laurence over chair placement. As if Greg were one of them and they were taking over in their gregarious, family way. </p><p>
  <em> And I am. They’re here because they’re family. </em>
</p><p>Stunned, Greg stood there, his mouth agape and his eyes brimming. </p><p>An arm slid around his waist. Mycroft’s scent wafted over him - his subtle hair pomade and his woodsy cologne - and the man kissed his temple. “I won’t be the only one who misses you. Pictures of this are being taken, and an online album will be created for you so you can check it anytime you’re gone and homesick.”</p><p>Greg’s stomach turned. “How’d you know I’d be homesick?” It was something that had been fiddling around at the edges of his day to day thought, a little tingle on his nerves that wondered if he would be able to leave after all. </p><p>“You are so well loved. You’ll miss them. And they’ll miss you. You’ve made your home here over the years, rooted here like a sapling, and then stretched your limbs to the sky and to the sun. You’ve cultivated this. It’s only right that it’s acknowledged before you go on another adventure.”</p><p>Greg sniffled and wiped his eyes. “I’m coming back, though. It’s not forever.”</p><p>“I know. But,” Mycroft slid his hand into Greg’s, “I had hoped you might do some traveling with me once you’ve come back. That you might let this John Watson stick around a little longer to help fill in.”</p><p>Greg’s chest tightened. “How’d you know what I’ve been thinking?”</p><p>Mycroft smiled. He murmured, “I have to wonder if all trees might experience some sort of longing for a change in landscape. Or are they all so dedicated to their place in time? I get the feeling you might not mind a change.”</p><p>“You going to pot me up, then, bring me indoors, travel with me?”</p><p>His heart thrilled at the sight of Mycroft’s widening smile. “I’ll even carry you around so that you’re always in the sunshine.”</p><p>“Even darkness can be a gift,” Greg’s eyes twinkled.</p><p>“Mary Oliver, the third person in our relationship,” Mycroft teased.</p><p>Greg chuckled, and kissed him on the nose.</p><p>“Good Lord, can you stop mauling my brother in public?” Sherlock’s baritone cut across the noise of the room.</p><p>“Shut up, Sherlock, I’m busy kissing your brother,” Greg said without moving or looking away from Mycroft. There were chuckles and Greg could imagine the look on Sherlock’s face.</p><p>He made himself let go of Mycroft to face Sherlock as he came striding across the room to them.</p><p>“I didn’t expect you’d decide to go to Costa Rica still, even after repairing your relationship with him. You surprise me, which is sort of delightful.”</p><p>“Aw, is that your way of saying you’re gonna miss me?” Greg grinned.</p><p>Sherlock gave him an eye roll. “This new person had better be competent. I couldn’t stand another Sammy.”</p><p>“Listen here, I expect you to treat this new naturalist with the utmost respect. Don’t go driving him off with your brand of courtesy,” Greg said. “Same goes for Sammy. He’s learned a lot while here, and I think he’s a stand-up educator now. Cut him some slack.”</p><p>Sherlock curled a lip at him. “Yes, dad.”</p><p>Peri burst into giggles behind him. </p><p>“Hey, no ganging up on an old man now you two.” Greg pulled Peri in for a squeeze. “You helped Mycroft plan this?”</p><p>“Yeah. It wasn’t hard. You’re not exactly observant.”</p><p>Sherlock snorted and then coughed into his drink. Mycroft slammed him on the back, exerting more force than he needed to. Greg detected a quirk of amusement on his lips.</p><p>Odette appeared beside him and threw her arms around him. “We are going to miss you so much! How are you going to live without us and all of your beautiful birds?” Jo stood behind her mother, a soft smile on her lips, her eyes shining.</p><p>Greg’s heart lurched to think of Artemis. He’d thought he’d have her for years to come, but instead, he’d release her in days.</p><p>And then there were all the birds here at the Preserve. </p><p>“Yeah, I have to wonder the same thing,” Damien said as he and Mario showed up beside them. “You’ve been here a long time.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Greg said, thinking. “I have. And, you know what? I don’t think I appreciated it enough. I think...I was too busy living in a cage of my own making. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family and my job. But I was too busy looking at greener pastures, and I wasn’t fully realizing how meaningful, and just how <em> full, </em>my life really is.” He looked at Mycroft. “I’m a very fortunate person. And I regret that I didn’t realize it until more recently. I didn’t realize the richness I had around me, that was offered to me all the time, and that all I had to do was reach out and grab it. I was too busy focusing on what I didn’t have.” He looked around the room. At all the people bustling about, all these people he cared about.</p><p>“In the past year, I’ve learned a big lesson in making meaning, and having appreciation. And now, things are coming together in ways I only dreamed of. I’m going to miss this place. I’m going to miss Artemis and all the rest of the birds. I’m especially going to miss the people. But I’m glad I came to the realization before I left, and I’m glad it didn’t take something drastic, like a life or death experience.” Greg’s gaze switched from face to face. Mycroft. Odette. Mario. Damien. Sherlock. Peri. Jo. “I’m getting maudlin now, but all I mean to say is that I really appreciate and love each one of you, and that I am the most fortunate man alive.”</p><p>They fell onto him in a group hug. As they parted, Jo said, “Okay Greg, now you need to sit in the place of honor, because the entertainment is about to begin.”</p><p>“Entertainment?” Greg said.</p><p>Mycroft took his hand. “Most everyone here picked their favorite Mary Oliver poem, and is going to read it to you.”</p><p>“Shut up,” he said. “I can’t take much more of this, Mycroft. I’m going to bawl buckets of tears, and no one will ever take me seriously again.”</p><p>Mycroft sat him down in a chair and settled beside him. “You’ll be alright. I’m right here.”</p><p>And so it went. Greg laughed, and he cried, and it was an afternoon to remember forever.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0048"><h2>48. Leaping</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Wood ducks are insane. The mother lays her eggs in the hollow of a tree, sometimes as high as sixty feet above ground. When the ducklings hatch, she flies down to the earth and calls to them. The little guys peep for her, but she’ll remain resolute, standing on the leaf litter, encouraging them with motherly quacks. It’s safe and comfortable where they are, and the way down is perilous and long.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> But eventually, one of them will brave the edge, look over, and jump. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> With tiny wings and feet spread, the duckling will land, bounce, and land again, safe on the forest floor.  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Artemis sat in a prim pose, then stepped down the length of the perch with concise and efficient movement. </p><p>“Well, this is the big day,” Greg said.</p><p>He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he hoped she would migrate this fall and return to the area in the spring. That he might see her again - her clean bib of white, and her reddish-brown head of feathers. The beautiful arch of her gleaming black beak, and the startling yellow of her feet. </p><p>He swallowed back the lump in his throat. She was at her heaviest weight, which wasn’t good for hunting as she was too well fed. More likely to not fly back down to the glove.</p><p>Which was the point.</p><p>But now that he stood in the doorway of her mews, her hopeful eyes lasered in on him, he hesitated. He could likely ask another falconer to take her in for a period of time. </p><p>But who knew what awaited him after this journey to Costa Rica?</p><p>He thought of Mycroft. He thought of a cold, foggy London, and then other places, warmer places like the south of France or the Maldives. He wanted to see more of the world, roll new words on his tongue, and taste new foods. Most of all, he didn’t want to neglect this beautiful bird who had helped to keep him sane during a dark period of his life. “The dark night of the soul,” Mycroft had once called it. </p><p>She and Scratch had ensured he got out of bed day after day to face the darkness.</p><p>“You are loved,” he said. “You are loved. I’m going to let you go today. Thank you for growing with me.” She’d been only a juvenile, a first year, not a single red feather to her tail, when he’d caught her. He snipped her leather anklets and tucked them into his pocket for safekeeping. In the back of his closet was a box that carried the anklets of his first bird, Spirit.</p><p>He placed her in the carrier, and carried it to the car.</p><p>Mycroft, Peri, and Jo waited. Greg put the carrier in the passenger seat and belted her in. The three people filed into the backseat, with Mycroft folded in the middle between the two women. </p><p>They’d chosen a field several miles down the road. No one spoke as he drove, which he was grateful for.</p><p>Getting out of the car, his legs felt as if they were made of lead. In wooden movements, he took the carrier from the car.</p><p>He didn’t look at any of them, though he could feel their eyes upon him. Peri walked up and placed her hand on his arm. He slid his fingers into hers, and they walked out to the field. It was in bloom with steeplebush and mountain mint, the waving seed heads of little bluestem, and the not yet opened buds of goldenrod. The sky was periwinkle blue, with a scattering of white clouds.</p><p>Around the lump in his throat, he recited, “‘To live in this world you must be able</p><p>to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.’”</p><p>Peri answered with a sniffle. <br/>He set the carrier down at the edge of the long grass. He could hear Mycroft and Jo behind them. He opened the door. “Step up,” he said. Obediently, she stepped her taloned feet onto the leather glove. </p><p>Artemis was a free bird already without her jesses and leash, but didn’t know it yet. She adjusted her stance on his glove, and waited for his command. </p><p>He touched his nose to her beak. “You are loved.”</p><p>Peri stood close to his elbow. “G’bye Artemis. You were the best hawk ever, and we’re all going to miss you.”</p><p>Jo came up behind her and slid her arms around Peri’s shoulders. “Goodbye, Artemis. Be free, you beautiful bird.”</p><p>Greg stared over the field and into the distant line of trees. All he had to do was lift his arm, let Artemis take flight, and she’d take off, free to make the fall migration to the winter feeding grounds, free to come back in the spring and find a mate, raise chicks and do it all over again. Existing as a hawk does, in some cosmic dance that started with the splitting of cells, cells that gravitate toward one another again and again in some form or another; as if everything was trying to hone in on that beginning point, forming itself in the mold of creation, over and over and over.</p><p>All he had to do was lift his arm. </p><p>Artemis stepped to the right, further up his arm, her eyes trained on his face. He leaned forward and touched his face to her beak again. She pressed her beak against his cheek. </p><p>“I’ll miss you. Be free. Be happy. And be safe.”</p><p>He lifted his arm and clicked his tongue. She spread her wings and took off toward the sky, a flash of golden brown in the sunlight and a rush of feathers in the air. She was aloft, scanning the field for potential prey. Greg didn’t move from his spot as he slowly lowered his arm. He didn’t flush prey from their hiding spots as was his usual job. Artemis flew to the nearest tree and settled there.</p><p>Jo slid an arm into his. Mycroft took the other side. It wasn’t until Mycroft touched his face that he realized it was wet. Mycroft held up his handkerchief, and gently wiped his cheeks. </p><p>His chest grew tight as they guided him back to the car. He could stop this. He could call Artemis back to him. He could come back tomorrow, even, and do it. He had a week before he took the plane to San Jos<b>é</b>. He could find Artemis a temporary home in that time. Or, ask John Watson to watch over her while he lived in Greg’s house. </p><p>But looking back, seeing the shape of his beloved bird in the crook of a dead oak as the sun started its downward path behind her, he knew he’d done the right thing.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Fuck, Mycroft,” Greg panted. “Yeah, right there, oh my god, right there…”</p><p>Mycroft kept his mouth on Greg’s cock as his fingers dialed in on Greg’s prostate. The building tension in his groin throbbed as his hips writhed, tendrils of quiet ecstasy threading through his body in a web of orgasmic delight. He came with a soft, choked cry. </p><p>Mycroft moved up next to him, kissing along his arm and his shoulder, and finally his neck and his mouth, where Greg could taste himself. </p><p>“Thank you,” Greg mumbled as he buried his face into Mycroft’s neck.</p><p>“The pleasure is mine,” Mycroft said. </p><p>They tangled their limbs together, dozing in the afterglow.</p><p>“Greg,” Mycroft whispered suddenly, “I will miss you dreadfully.”</p><p>Greg swallowed. “I’ll miss you, too. Sometimes...sometimes I wonder if I’ve made the right choice.”</p><p>“You made the right choice for you, when I could not distract you. I will miss you, but I am also tremendously proud of you.” His words were half-muffled, but Greg could make them out. </p><p>“And...you’ll wait for me?” Greg’s heart thumped with an old fear, a fear ingrained in him that his leaving would spell disaster for his relationship with this man, just as it nearly had when he’d left his brother behind, and just as it had when he’d left his mother. </p><p>“I will wait for you, my love,” Mycroft breathed. “I will wait for you.”</p><p>Greg squeezed his arms around Mycroft, tense again, feeling desperate and sad, though it was silly. It was only five months. That didn’t seem to make a difference to his heart, no matter how much his mind tried to convince it that this was okay.</p><p>“I only fear you’ll meet some beautiful man on a beach by turquoise colored water.”</p><p>Greg was yanked out of his despondency. “I’m sorry, what?”</p><p>“You are so gorgeous. You’ll meet someone equally gorgeous, who will appreciate you for who you are, and wouldn’t leave you in a lurch after a stupid fight -”</p><p>“No,” Greg said. “<em> No. </em> Besides, I told you you’re forgiven. We don’t have to keep going back to that, and you don’t need to go on feeling guilty, or as if you need to be punished by me meeting another man, or anything like that.” He stroked Mycroft’s hair. “When I fall in love with someone, I fall hard enough to bruise. And this time, the bit of bruising I got turned out to be worth it.”</p><p>“This sounds like a horrible campaign for a victim to return to their abuser.”</p><p>“Shut it, you.” Greg kissed his forehead. “You were hurting too, weren’t you? It wasn’t just me.”</p><p>Mycroft was quiet before he said, “Yes. It was a foolish thing I did to both of us.”</p><p>“And you’re dedicated to me, and aren’t going to boff some dew-faced intern, right?”</p><p>Mycroft sat up, and even in the dark, Greg could tell he was scandalized. “Greg!”</p><p>He laughed and pulled Mycroft back down onto him. “Listen, I love you. I want to stay with you. I’m going to do these five months, and I am going to miss you terribly. I’ll probably cry about it. A lot. But in the end, I’m coming back to you.” He traced his fingertips over Mycroft’s cheek. The weight of him was comfortable, no matter how much Mycroft had protested and seemed to think himself larger than he actually was. “I love you.”</p><p>Mycroft buried his face into Greg’s shoulder, the words “I love you” somehow audible to Greg’s ears. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Greg sat on the sofa, scritching Scratch behind the ears. His luggage waited by the door. Mycroft was upstairs, finishing dressing. </p><p>“Hey, so I want you to treat this new guy nicely. He’s coming here tomorrow. Molly will come by in the morning just to make sure you’re okay.”</p><p>Scratch stared at him, his yellow eyes almost glowing in the dim morning light. Daybreak entered the windows in a soft, grey palette. </p><p>“We ended up being pretty good friends, didn’t we?” He paused in his stroking. </p><p>Scratch <em> mrrped </em> and butted Greg’s hand.</p><p>“I get it. Thanks for letting me be your human for a while. I’m sorry to leave you. But who knows. I may come back here and continue life as usual.” He looked around. All his personal items were gone from the room, stored in the basement. His guitar, his pictures that had been hanging on the wall, including the precious painting Mycroft had gifted him. “And it’s a pretty good life, so that would be amazing, right?”</p><p>Scratch seemed to agree.</p><p>“Anyway, just know...don’t tell anyone I told you this, but you’re the best cat ever and I love you.”</p><p>“Very touching,” Mycroft said at the doorway.</p><p>“You creep! You snuck up on us!”</p><p>“I’m not sure I snuck up on you so much as you were so involved in your communing with the feline that you didn’t hear my footsteps.”</p><p>Greg grumbled.</p><p>“I’m sure he’ll miss you.”</p><p>“Yeah, I feel bad, like I’m pushing him onto this complete stranger. Doesn’t seem like the nice thing to do.”</p><p>“You care very much for him, and I’m sure he knows that.” Mycroft checked his watch. “Shall we pick up coffee on the way?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Greg said. “Jo and Peri should be here any minute.”</p><p>“Excellent. I’ll pack the car and give you two a moment.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Greg said. And then he sat quietly, enjoying the warmth and the weight of a cat he loved in his lap.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I love you,” Jo said into his ear as she gathered him into a hug. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t go anywhere by yourself. Your Spanish is terrible.” She released him. </p><p>Peri handed her a napkin. “Jesus Christ, mom, I think there’s more water in you than there is in the San Juan river.”</p><p>“Peregrine,” Greg said with a notion to admonish her, but he couldn’t muster any heat. Instead, he hugged her with all the strength of a bear.</p><p>Peri groaned, but then melted. “I’ll miss you, Dad.”</p><p>“Be good in France. Don’t go anywhere alone with any boys. Remember your self-defense classes.”</p><p>“I didn’t take any self-defense classes.”</p><p>“Oh. In that case, trip revoked.”</p><p>She pulled away and grunted at him, though there was a smile on her face. “Did you remember to take self-defense classes?”</p><p>“No one’s interested in an old man.”</p><p>“I beg to differ,” Mycroft said. His face was pale, but he’d kept a smile on it all morning. It was starting to unnerve Greg. </p><p>Greg gave him a hopeful smile of his own, and then kissed him on the mouth. They’d held each other in the shower that morning, weepy and repeating goodbyes and promises and kissing and touching. It had been draining for both of them, but it reaffirmed Greg’s sense of his place in Mycroft’s life. </p><p>“You are the most important man in my life,” he said. “I’ll call you as soon as I land.”</p><p>“You better,” Mycroft said, and Greg could see a shine in his eyes.</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>“I love you.” They kissed again, and Greg headed for the lines to get into the airport, his heart heavy and his eyes brimming with tears.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0049"><h2>49. A Primate in His Prime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Rainforests account for more of the world's fresh water than anyone would realize. During photosynthesis, plants release water into the atmosphere through transpiration. Deforestation decreases the amount of moisture released to the atmosphere, and that leads to less rainfall. Deforestation and drought come hand in hand. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rainforests, like all forests, also filter water of pollutants and debris. By slowing the course of rainwater, it allows water to gather in underground reserves. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is why it behooves us to care for things, to let things grow, to leave ecosystems unimpacted. In the end, it is what physically sustains us.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just as our connections to others, our time for self-care, our filtering of the things that don't serve us in life, can sustain us in spirit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The image on the screen blipped and froze right on Mycroft making a comedic expression where his mouth was slightly open and his eyes were closed. After another moment of a garbled voice with some intermittent swearing, the picture moved and Mycroft was there again, the furrow of his face transforming into a beatific smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey there, lover,” Greg said. He was lying stomach down on his bed in his tiny room at the villa. The laptop balanced on his pillow, and he placed his fist below his chin as he grinned at the face of his beloved. It was evening, but the sky was still light. Birds chattered in the trees nearby. He’d been learning their calls recently - nightjars and anis and cuckoos alike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s such a blessing to be able to see your face,” Mycroft murmured. Greg could see a large, dark window behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, show me more of your place.” So far, they had made do with texting and a couple late night phone calls. This was their first Skype session, and Greg had already been there for two weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft looked over his shoulder. “Really? It’s rather bare -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Greg got the sense of being lifted as Mycroft carried his laptop around the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, do you live in a mansion?” The ceiling was tall, with almost equally tall windows looking out onto the dark. The walls were covered in an expensive-looking wood paneling, and the fireplace was large enough that Greg could have fit himself inside it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not what you would term a mansion. We are in London after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A penthouse apartment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is a large building, and part of the family inheritance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg wondered about that. “So, you’re still living in your mom’s house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Greg.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow. And here I thought I had snagged myself a sugar daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Greg Lestrade.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg bit the corner of his lip as he tried to keep himself from giggling. “Hey,” he cleared his throat. “So, how are your mom and dad? Have you had any trouble with them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have been invited to lunch, followed by musical theatre. I have declined, and then I counter-offered with tea at the Diogenes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Diogenes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A gentleman’s club.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You go to a gentlemen's club and you invited your parents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am a member.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so this is one of those fancy clubs that only allow men, right? Not a strip club?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Greg.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just making sure. We have a very different idea of what makes a club a gentlemen’s club here in Connecticut, and it usually involves topless dancers. I’m trying to picture your mom in such a place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Gregory Matthew Lestrade.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Cease that at once.” His scandalized tone was belied by his smile as he turned the laptop to him. “I don’t wish to ever picture my mother in any such place,” he said with a shudder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg laughed. “Okay, but seriously. Are you going to be okay with them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft sighed. “It will be what it will be. I have come to realize that I was never going to have their approval. I am determined to make my own path and to pursue my own desires. They will have to either tag along or get out of the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oooh, I like this side of you…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now show me your quarters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not much to show you.” He snatched the laptop up and swung it around his little room with its floral wallpaper. He could nearly touch the opposite walls if he stood in the middle of the room and stretched his arms out in either direction. The floor was wooden with a colorful, woven rug and the bed was covered by a worn, clean quilt. “My roommate is a lizard named Frank. He eats the cockroaches.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg.” Mycroft’s eyes glittered. “Are you serious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About the cockroaches or Frank? Both. He’s exactly the kind of roommate I can appreciate. Quiet. Nonjudgmental. Very unlike Scratch.” Then his gut tugged. “Though I do miss that grumpy old cat. Wonder how John is getting along with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My brother informs me that John Watson is a bothersome old fool and that he’d like for you to return as quickly as possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Already? Jesus. Hope Sherlock doesn’t drive John away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get the feeling John Watson has captured his interest in a way no one has in a very long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what do you mean by that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t my story to tell,” Mycroft said. “Besides, I don’t wish to talk about him. Or them. I miss you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss you, too.” Greg placed the laptop at the end of the bed. “And right now, I’m missing your touch. Seeing you is torture - but a delicious kind of torture that has me hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Greg.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> But it wasn’t an admonishment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a white flag.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rainforest was exquisite. Vibrant with life and rife with death. Bizarre insects, colorful birds, curious bisotes - long-nosed mammals with ringed tails - and then Greg’s favorite: the howler monkey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t stop him from missing Artemis when he saw a hawk flying overhead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the first day he went ziplining through the canopy of the Monteverde Cloud Forest and was hailed by a band of howler monkeys who made his blood thrill with some ancient recognition of a distant cousin. The black-furred animals traveled in family groups, their mouths forming wide O’s as they bellowed their excitement, their querulous songs carrying through the limbs and leaves of the trees and echoing off the ground. He stood on the platform to his full height, thumped his chest and yelled at the top of his lungs, which further escalated the exchange with the primates, until each and every one of them was whooping and hollering. </span>
</p><p><span>Alejandro, who had been showing him the sights and training him on his role in ecotourism, laughed and clapped his shoulder and cautioned him from causing a riot. They’d been exchanging words in French and Spanish - though Greg’s French was about as terrible as his Spanish - and going out for beers at the end of the day in San Ram</span>ó<span>n. </span></p><p>
  <span>It was Alejandro who brought him to </span>
  <span>Volcán</span>
  <span> Arenal. The gate at the bottom was closed that day, and they weren’t allowed any closer, which brought a wave of disappointment over Greg - then Alejandro said, “Shhh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Escucha</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg leaned an ear toward the ground. Beneath the noises of the surrounding rainforest, beneath the small talk of tourists at the gates bewailing their disappointment, there beneath bright sun and clear sky was a rumble. A rumble that teased at Greg’s inner sense of fright. Like the percolation of a giant coffee pot, it tugged at his belly, even as the alarms rang out in the back of his head that he was near danger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alejandro grinned, bright white teeth against the dark tan of his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that night when he joined Alejandro for dinner with his wife Lupita, he couldn’t stop exclaiming over the primal sensation of it all - to stand at the foot of a volcano, and to know that you’re in no immediate danger because the instruments of science have assured you that you are not, but that hindbrain, the amygdala shouting danger in the back of your head as your heart beat increases and your mouth dries out. Lupita laughed at him in a good-natured way, and added more rice and beans to his plate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, Costa Rica is so beautiful,” he said to Mycroft on Skype. “It’s unbelievable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d just finished telling him about his volcano experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I only hope you won’t be so captivated that you’ll never return to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the one thing that’s missing.” His gut clenched. “I miss you so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I miss you, too. And I have something to ask you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you know, I have been in touch with Peri while she’s in France. I thought I might invite her here to see London one weekend. But I wanted to be sure that was alright with you and Jo,” Mycroft said. “I would pay for all expenses and ensure her safety while here. She would stay in my home, and I would be happy to entertain her with sightseeing and dining.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft,” Greg breathed. His heart squeezed. “You are the most generous man I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It really won’t be all that expensive, and I’m happy to have her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? Teenagers, y’know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am certain. I appreciate Peri’s intelligence, and her work ethic. I went on her YouTube channel recently, and -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, what? You went on her YouTube channel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes. It’s surprisingly professional. I don’t understand all the vernacular, but if I applied myself, I’m sure I could. But her followership is around 2,000 subscribers, and for an amateur gamer I am led to understand that she’s performing superbly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh. I knew when she reached one thousand. She and Kayla threw themselves a slumber party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, she’s quite good. Very dedicated to her work. I found it to be impressive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg’s heart thumped. “Good. I know she works really hard at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, am I overreaching here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” and then Greg noticed the note of nervousness in Mycroft’s voice. “I had thought I should get to know Peri better, but if this is moving too quickly considering the parameters of our relationship -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I mean, no, this is not moving too quickly. And who would I be to deny my daughter a chance at more travel? I’d be a hypocrite, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wish to impose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. You’re being very generous, Mycroft. And I appreciate it. I appreciate it so much. So please, take my daughter on a whirlwind trip through London. Get to know her.” That was the heart of the matter, wasn’t it? “I want you two to get to know each other better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could almost feel the other man’s relief. “Thank you. I shall talk to her again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It kind of blows my mind that you two chat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it brought some relief to her to have someone familiar with the area she’s staying in -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I know. She’s said as much to me that it’s nice having you for a kind of backup for getting to know the area better, and someone to practice her French with. It just blows my mind is all. But it makes me happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is reassuring to hear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you weren’t actually worried about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I only wish to...keep to the boundaries that I should keep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you all in.” Jack had never been interested in Peri. He went away most weekends she was around. He hated having to share Greg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not Mycroft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg smiled. “Okay, so tell me what you’re going to do.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to offer it to you first.” Paul was a tall man with beefy shoulders and biceps. “You’re a fast learner and people like you. I’d love for you to stick around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg stared at the packet. It was a full time job offer with benefits and a good salary - particularly for living in Costa Rica.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paul, this is really generous, but I got a teen kid who will be back from France at the end of the semester. I have to go back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. But eventually she’ll be off to college, right?” Paul pushed the packet toward him. “Take some time to think about it. If salary’s an issue, we can talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, okay. Thanks. I’ll think about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And talk to Alejandro. He’s been with us five years and all the while the company’s been growing. Ecotourism is a booming industry. It’d be worth your time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, thanks. Paul. I’ll, uh, talk to you about it later.” He picked up the packet and shook Paul’s hand over his desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hasta luego.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Paul winked at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mañana.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Greg left the room quickly, clutching the packet to his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, to live here, in this beautiful land with its wonderful people. He’d made friends, and he was making a living doing something exciting. He was learning a new language, and learning all about the local culture. It was a dream come to life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d hold onto the packet for now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just hold it, and dream a little bit longer.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Paradise. That was the word for this jungle. Greg hooked his carabiner to the next bit of line. Alejandro fiddled around behind him. It was their day off, but Greg said he needed to do the zipline one more time without the tourists. Alejandro went along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smell of fog and verdant greenery hung heavy in the air. The Monteverde Cloud Forest surrounded them on all sides. A bird squawked in the distance. Somewhere beneath the brush a critter moved in the leaves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew in a breath, and jumped from the platform. The zipline buzzed as he sailed through the air, gaining speed and losing height quickly. The wind against his skin energized him, the thrill of flying through the canopy on par with the first time Artemis flew down and landed on his glove on their first hunt. His heart sped up and his mouth opened with a “Whoop!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He planted his legs solidly on the next platform. It jarred his body, but the adrenaline rushed through him like a tidal wave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved up the ladder, going up to the second story platform, and looked down at the zipline. The sight at the next stop stole his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A troop of howler monkeys were sunning themselves on the next platform, in perfect repose beneath the shafts of light puncturing the overhead canopy. One of them caught sight of him, and rose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey monkeys!” Greg yelled. He was still thrumming with the excess energy of freely ziplining through the jungle. “Hey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the troop rose from their perch and eyed him with dark, shining gazes. The leader began a loud roaring call that sounded like a cross between an angry alligator and a sick cow. They began hopping up and down like teenagers at a bonfire, whooping it up like fans at a hockey game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! Whoop whoop!” Greg threw his arms open wide. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Primates. Cousins. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Yeah! Hoo hoo hoo!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In that moment, shouting like a maniac on the edge of 10,500 hectares of cloud forest, Greg realized: he’d never been happier, and it didn’t have as much to do with where he was, though that was incredibly special and wonderful. It had more to do with who he’d become: someone who could enjoy his own company, and happily share that company with others. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew then what he wanted to do.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I just want to take a moment to thank all the WIP readers. The exciting conclusion comes to us on Friday! Thank you so much for your comments and your kudos. It has been an incredible journey to share this story with you. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0050"><h2>50. Taking Off</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> The human animal is complex. With emotional intelligence and the abilities to think in abstraction and communicate to great lengths, we have proven ourselves a species that is simultaneously incredibly intelligent and incredibly stupid. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But the thing I always come back to is that we have brains and hearts to guide us. That when things seem insurmountable, that when the going gets tough, and when there is backlash against progress, we can rise above it, again and again.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Not everyone. Not always. But in time and over time, we progress.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Nature, in time and over time, evolves. And so shall we, as humans are never separate from Nature, no matter how often we forget it.  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“How’s your weekend going, sweetie?” Greg asked. Peri had flounced onto the sofa within view of the Skype window. She looked good - her skin glowed warm against a soft grey sweater with a mustard yellow scarf around her neck. </p><p>“Great!” Then she looked around, lowered her head, and whispered, “Dad, Mycroft’s loaded!”</p><p>Greg was unable to suppress a chuckle. “I knew he had money; I wasn’t aware of how much.”</p><p>“Dad. He’s <em> loaded</em>. This place could be in Downton Abbey. Except it doesn’t have the grounds, or the horses. The neighbors are close.”</p><p>He hoped Mycroft couldn’t hear her. “How’s London?”</p><p>“It’s amazing! You’ve gotta visit!”</p><p>Greg grinned. “I plan to.”</p><p>“Mycroft took me to the British Museum and Kew Gardens, and we went shopping in Notting Hill. It was awesome.”</p><p>“I’m glad you’re having a good time. When do you go back to France?”</p><p>“We’re driving to Heathrow in about an hour. Actually, I have to finish packing. Do you want to talk to Mycroft?” She shifted her gaze to something behind the laptop screen. “Mycroft?” she called.</p><p>Greg gripped his thighs tighter. “Yeah. When am I going to get to talk to you again? You’ll text me when you touch down, right?”</p><p>“I will. Let’s Skype this weekend.”</p><p>“I gotta wait a whole week?”</p><p>“Dad, I have school, and I have homework to catch up on.”</p><p>“You’re not handing in assignments late, are you?”</p><p>“<em>No. </em> These are long-term projects,” Peri said. “I never hand in homework late.”</p><p>“How did I end up with such a studious kid? Are you sure you’re mine?”</p><p>“Haha,” she said with a toss of her head. “I’ll text you later.”</p><p>“Love you, Peri.”</p><p>“Love you, too!” She said but was already gone from the screen and the words faded.</p><p>Mycroft sat within view. He wore an emerald green tie with a gold and green waistcoat. It made him look posh, and lean. </p><p>“Well, here’s someone who actually wants to talk to me,” Greg said. “Hi, you.”</p><p>Mycroft smiled at him. </p><p>“Peri still there?” </p><p>“She’s left. I believe she’s trying to fit her souvenirs into her suitcase. It’s a challenge of physics.”</p><p>“Good. Then she won’t hear me tell you that suit is working for me.” Greg winked.</p><p>“Dear Lord,” Mycroft said with a delighted smile that made Greg’s heart tumble. “Your daughter has been an absolute pleasure to entertain.”</p><p>“Good. I’m glad to hear that. Not that I was worried. She’s always been a good kid. Almost too good,” Greg said. “I’m always only half-joking when I ask if she’s mine.”</p><p>“She reminds me of you. An astute appreciation for what really matters in life, even if she doesn’t always understand it.”</p><p>“Are you saying the Lestrades are a little dense?”</p><p>“Not at all,” Mycroft huffed a laugh. “You’ll find that wisdom and knowledge are two very different avenues.”</p><p>“Oh, and what little pearls of wisdom has Peri shared with you?”</p><p>Mycroft leaned back, his gaze unfocused as he seemed to consider his words. Then the two blue-grey irises zeroed in on Greg, and he leaned forward. “She asked me if I had ever wanted kids. I told her I had long considered it, but deemed myself inadequate father material.”</p><p>The smile slipped from Greg’s mouth. His thoughts wandered back to that conversation about kids in the Naturalist’s Notebook on Mount Desert Island. Mycroft’s plan for an au pair and boarding school. “And what did she say to that?”</p><p>The corners of Mycroft’s mouth twitched. “She said that you could teach me, because you’re a great dad.”</p><p>A lump formed in his throat and blocked his breathing. He closed his eyes against the prickle. He swallowed. “She said that?”</p><p>“She did.” Mycroft watched him. “I told her that you had already taught me a great many things, because you’re a great man and a good person.”</p><p>“Jeez, you two,” Greg laughed nervously as he swiped at his eyes with his fingers and swallowed around the lump again. “You’re too generous to me.” He remembered Mycroft’s downturned lips, his flush of anger when faced with Greg’s verbalized judgment that day. “Mycroft, what I said to you that day -”</p><p>“Think nothing of it,” Mycroft said. “We apologized to one another at the time, did we not?”</p><p>Greg let a smile form on his lips. “We did. But for what it’s worth, I think you’d make an amazing father.” The thoughts had swirled around in his head recently, a combination of curiosity and terror. Did Mycroft still plan on a surrogate and child?</p><p>“Do you…” He bit his lip.</p><p>Mycroft’s face shifted. “Wait, one moment.” He stood and moved out of the camera’s view. Greg heard the click of a shut door. </p><p>Mycroft returned and sat.</p><p>“This might not be the place or time for it,” Greg said. “But I’m curious to know your thoughts.”</p><p>“Yes.” Mycroft fiddled with his tie. “I find myself undecided on that matter. If - it was something my mother wanted from me. To ensure the Holmes line and the inheritance. Frankly, I’d leave it all to charity. But then, sometimes I can’t help but wonder.”</p><p>Greg’s vision cleared and his heart thumped. </p><p>“I recognize that you have a teenager, so perhaps this sort of thing is of no interest to you any longer - “</p><p>But Greg could see it. Mycroft wasn’t even forty and Greg was just past it, so maybe not too old. It had been an amazing experience raising Peri with Jo. Jack had said he wanted kids, but he didn’t expect to be ready until he was older. Greg had agreed. Thank the universe that hadn’t panned out.</p><p>Mycroft was stumbling over his words. “But if I were to have...would you - would you consider helping me be the best father I can be...and I understand if you say no of course because it’s not as if we’re married or living together or any of those things but I -”</p><p>“Yes, you idiot.”</p><p>Mycroft stiffened. “Sorry?”</p><p>“Oh my god. You’re seriously thinking of becoming a dad?”</p><p>Mycroft’s face still seemed uncertain. “I am. But I understand that it could put a strain on our relationship. I am asking not as an immediate possibility, but if someday...if we were still together - and I would like us to be still together - you might...help me to parent the child. Could you - could you see yourself in that role again?”</p><p>Greg could see it. Mycroft and he on either side of a child, hand in hand, walking through the forest and naming the calls of the birds. “Yes, you idiot.”</p><p>Mycroft’s lips flattened into a thin smile. “I can’t tell how serious you’re being.”</p><p>“Goddamnit, I love you. You’re asking me to be in this for the long run, right? And you’re letting me know what your future plans could involve, and I am agreeing to those plans. Okay? You, me, and a kid. As a serious possibility.”</p><p>The relief was palpable in the air around Mycroft as his shoulders slackened and his facial muscles relaxed. “I love you, too.”</p><p>“And that other thing that long-term partners do. You know. With the rings. I know I asked once, but I’m checking. Would you ever consider it again?”</p><p>Mycroft’s eyebrows lifted in surprised. Then his cheeks flushed, and his lips trembled. “With you, I would consider anything and everything.”</p><p>“Good,” Greg said, and his cheeks could have burst from his smile. “Good.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Two weeks before Christmas Greg was called back to Paul’s office.</p><p>“Did you think about my offer?” Paul’s lips parted in a big, toothy grin. In some ways, his bear-like hulk reminded him of Henric, and the thought caused a pang within Greg. He missed everyone from the Preserve.</p><p>“I did. And, I really appreciate it, but I have a family...two families, it seems. One in the US, and one in the UK.”</p><p>Paul raised his eyebrows at that, and leaned onto one elbow on his desk. “Bigamy, Lestrade? I didn’t take you to be that guy, somehow.”</p><p>Greg laughed. “Well, my baby mama got married this past summer. I figure it’s my turn.”</p><p>“That so? Who’s the lucky girl?”</p><p>“His name is Mycroft.” Paul’s eyes widened. “And I love him, and I’m going to ask him to marry me.”</p><p>“Oh,” Paul said. He seemed taken aback. “Well, I wish you the best?”</p><p>“Thanks, I’ll take it. I’ve got a lot waiting for me at home.” And with that, Greg left the office. </p><p>He called down the hall to where he could hear Alejandro rustling around. “Hey Alejandro, can you do me a favor?” </p><p>“Claro. Que necesitas?”</p><p>“Can you drive me into town? And to the best jeweler you know?”</p><p>Alejandro paused in his rummaging. “A jeweler?”</p><p>“Yeah. I have an important question to ask someone.”</p><p>His head popped around the doorframe, a bright white grin on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. “A question?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Greg! You’re back early!”</p><p>“Only by a few days.” He swept Jo up into a hug, right off her feet. The fragrance of her hair and skin overwhelmed him in a comforting wave of warmth. “God, you smell good. Merry Christmas.”</p><p>She laughed. “Thanks, Merry Christmas to you! Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here. What are you doing here? I mean I’m glad to see you but if you got out early, what are you doing here? I’d’ve thought you’d go to Mycroft!”</p><p>“I plan on seeing him. But I needed to talk to you and Peri first.”</p><p>“Is that Dad?” Peri’s voice floated down the hallway, obviously perplexed. </p><p>“Hey!” Greg called back. “Come give your old man a hug!”</p><p>She appeared in the hallway and walked toward him in her quiet, teen-dignified way, though her eyes were wide with incredulity. “Why are you home early?”</p><p>“I need to talk to you two. I told my boss I needed to get out sooner, and someone else filled in for the Christmas group.” After Greg’s whirlwind shopping trip, Alejandro had agreed to take Greg’s group. Lupita nearly killed them both, until she learned why Alejandro would be working Christmas Day. “You two are the most important people in my life, you know that?” he said as he hugged his daughter. “It is so good to see you in person, Peri. I’ve missed you.”</p><p>Jo smiled as she watched them.</p><p>He stood back, with a hand on each of their shoulders. “Like I was saying, you two are the most important people in my life. And now, I’d like to add a third person. And I want your blessing. Is this weird? Is this too old-fashioned? I don’t care. I want you to know that I’m in love, and that I’m happy with who I am, and that I want to marry Mycroft.”</p><p>Jo’s eyes widened as she placed her hand on her chest with a sharp inhale. “Good god, Greg. Are you high?”</p><p>Peri snorted, her curls bouncing around her face as she clapped a hand over her mouth.</p><p>“Not at all,” he announced with his hands on his hips. “I’ve lived with him and I’ve lived without him. I much prefer living with him. And I want to be his, and I want him to be mine. And I want him to be part of our family.”</p><p>“Do it, Dad. Are you gonna propose?” Peri’s eyes shone.</p><p>“Yeah. I thought I’d surprise him. Aside from Christmas presents and a couple souvenirs, I didn’t spend much money in Costa Rica. So, I’ve bought a ring, and I had my plane tickets here moved around for a fee, but I have enough money for a trip to London.”</p><p>“You don’t have to go to London, Dad. He’s here.” Peri brimmed with energy as she rocked on the balls of her feet. “He’s at Sherlock’s. He got into town early, but I’m supposed to see him later.”</p><p>Greg startled. “What do you mean? Why didn’t he tell me?”</p><p>“He wanted you to be able to spend time with us,” Jo said. “He thought you should spend time with us for a day first, and then he’d surprise you.”</p><p>“What, he was going to be here without telling me? Is he barmy?”</p><p>“No,” Peri laughed. “I think he came here for Christmas to escape his parents.” </p><p>“I’m gonna kill him.”</p><p>Peri guffawed. “<em> Dad </em>. He was only going to be here a couple days earlier than you guys originally planned. And we were going to hang out.”</p><p>“You’ve really done a one-eighty on him, huh?”</p><p>She sobered. “I know he hurt your feelings. But I can tell he loves you. Like Marcus loves mom. And you deserve to be happy.”</p><p>Greg’s eyes filled. “Jesus, how did this just turn into a Hallmark holiday movie?”</p><p>Jo shoved him as she laughed. “We have to go to Sherlock’s house, now!”</p><p>“Now? Shouldn’t I just call him and tell him to come over?”</p><p>“It’s Christmas Eve, Greg. This is like the perfect Christmas Eve activity,” Jo said. Let’s surprise him. And then you propose, and then we all go back here to celebrate.”</p><p>“What is all this racket?” Marcus bellowed down the hallway.</p><p>“Marcus, come here!” Jo shouted. “Greg’s home! And we’re going to Sherlock’s to propose to Mycroft!”</p><p>There was a pause. Then the sounds of things being moved and some heavy footsteps. “I’m sorry, did you say we’re proposing to Mycroft?”</p><p>“As a family,” Greg said, grinning at an incredulous Marcus as he came into view. “You look good, man. I got to see you propose to one of the most important people in my life. I’m about to go do my own proposal. You’re welcome to come.”</p><p>“Uh. Okay. Man, I thought we were going to play Cards Against Humanity and drink tonight, but I guess this is more wholesome.”</p><p>“We’ll still have time for Cards Against Humanity!” Peri was grabbing her coat from the coat stand in the hall. “Hurry up! We should go before one of them commits fratricide!”</p><p>“That actually is a concern.” Greg pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head. “We should hurry. Oh my god, are we actually doing this?” Dizziness threatened him.</p><p>He felt a squeeze on his arm. “Get it together. Can we see the ring before we go?”</p><p>“Mom!” Peri held Jo’s jacket out to her, and threw Marcus his as she shouted out to him. “There’s no time!”</p><p>“Holy shit, I can’t believe we’re doing this.”</p><p>Marcus clapped him on the shoulder. “Congrats, man. Let’s go watch you make an idiot out of yourself.”</p><p>That shook him out of his nerves. “Gee, thanks, man.”</p><p>Marcus laughed as he shrugged on his jacket. “I’ll drive.”</p><p>“Good. I’m not fit for it.”</p><p>Jo slid an arm around his waist. “We’ll be there with you.”</p><p>Peri grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door into the refreshing blast of New England cold.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Surprise! There's a chapter 51!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0051"><h2>51. Sticking the Landing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Instructions for Living a Life: </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Pay attention. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Be astonished. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tell about it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -Mary Oliver </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>In the car, Greg’s knee jerked up and down. Energy zapped through him. He wiped his hands on his lap. Marcus glanced at him from the driver’s seat. “You okay?”</p><p>“I think so.”</p><p>“You wondering if he might say no?”</p><p>The pit in his stomach grew heavier. “He’s been married before, you know.”</p><p>“He has?”</p><p>“Jo didn’t tell you?”</p><p>“To be honest, I think she did mention it, but I don’t keep tabs on everyone’s relationship pasts. What happened?”</p><p>“The guy died. Car accident. And I guess the marriage was headed down the tubes at the time...so Mycroft carries a lot of guilt over it. Wore the guy’s ring for years.”</p><p>“But he wasn’t wearing it this summer, Greg,” Jo chimed from the backseat.</p><p>“I saw a picture of the guy,” Peri said.</p><p>“What?” Greg twisted around to look at her.</p><p>“I was looking through a photo album -”</p><p>“Did you ask permission?” Jo asked.</p><p>“Well…”</p><p>“Peregrine Lestrade!”</p><p>“He said I could go through the books in his library!”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter now, Jo,” Greg said. “Peri, try not to go through personal things in the future. What happened?”</p><p>“He saw me. He told me it was his ex-husband. I asked him what happened, and he said he died. And then he said that he wished things had happened differently. That the guy wasn’t the right man for him, but Mycroft thought he should keep up appearances, or something like that. He told me that I should wait a long time before I decide to marry someone, and that I should make sure it’s someone I can treasure, and who treasures me. Like you and him.”</p><p>“Did he say that? Like me and him?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I’m gonna cry. Marcus, did you bring tissues?” Jo said.</p><p>“Since when am I in charge of your tissues?”</p><p>“It’s okay, mom. Mycroft always carries a handkerchief. He’s a real gentleman.”</p><p>Marcus side-eyed Greg and grinned. “Great. Now they’re going to be constantly comparing me to this real gentleman you’re saddling yourself with.”</p><p>Greg laughed. “He could teach the both of us some lessons, I think. I’m inclined to listen and learn.”</p><p>“We like you well enough, Marcus. You’re alright,” Peri said.</p><p>“Thank you,” Marcus replied with a roll of his eyes. “I’m glad I’m ‘alright’.”</p><p>Jo sniggered.</p><p>Greg reached into his pocket to touch the ring box. He’d chosen a white gold ring with a yellow gold inlay. Feathers were etched along the band of yellow gold. It made him think of Tiny, and Artemis, and the birds on the Cape, and the ones they saw in Acadia. It even made him think of the mourning cloak butterfly, the early riser of spring who follows the yellow bellied sapsucker to savor the sweeter things.</p><p>And here he was, unexpectedly, but wonderfully, being jostled along by his family into a proposal. </p><p>He wouldn’t want for it to happen any other way.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Peri marched to the front door and rang the doorbell. It was a tiny cape, very similar to Greg’s. Dead stalks of tall plants lined the sidewalks. Inkberry bushes stood like sentries on either side of the stoop. </p><p>Sherlock opened the door, a questioning look on his face. “Can I help you?”</p><p>“Merry Christmas!” Peri said. “We’re here to visit you and Mycroft.”</p><p>Sherlock rolled his eyes, but halted when he saw Greg behind Jo and Peri. His eyes widened, just a bit, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Mycroft! You have visitors!”</p><p>Greg’s stomach turned like tangled strands of seaweed knotting in on itself as it was tossed by the tide. He squeezed his grip around the box.</p><p>
  <em> How am I even going to do this? </em>
</p><p>Marcus grabbed his shoulder. “You can do it, man. It’s the moments leading up to the question that are the worst, and then it all gets better after that.”</p><p>Greg breathed out. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”</p><p>Mycroft appeared in the doorway. Greg’s heart seized at the sight, but his nerves calmed like the ebbing of a tide. His lungs found room to breathe. Mycroft. His Mycroft, all his six feet and one inch, his skin pale like the distant stars, and his eyes the color of dusk. His partner on the trails, his lover in bed, his companion in all things. </p><p>His Mycroft who loved him and accepted him. Who took a risk in returning to him and revealing his true feelings. </p><p>His. </p><p>“Mycroft,” he said.</p><p>Mycroft’s face opened with wonder. The cold air was gone, the stars had faded, the other people slipped away. There was only he and his beloved, whose face was alight with awe and surprise and a breathtaking sense of relief. “Greg,” he said, though his voice was barely above a whisper. Greg’s heart beat in time with his movements as he approached the steps.</p><p>“Mycroft.” He held out his hand. Mycroft came down a step to take it, and before he could envelop Greg in a hug, Greg sank down to one knee. Now one cold, wet knee in the snow.</p><p>“Greg?” Mycroft‘s mouth opened in a little ‘o,’ and his eyes went wide.</p><p>Greg had to stand back up a little to pry the ring box from his pocket. Peri giggled and Jo shushed her. He sank back down, and held the box where Mycroft could see, his cold fingers trying to push the lid open.</p><p>Mycroft brought one hand to his mouth. Sherlock emitted a rude noise. </p><p>“Hi. Merry Christmas. Well, Happy Christmas, as they say where you’re from.”</p><p>“Ask the question already,” Marcus said, and was shushed by both Jo and Peri.</p><p>“Good Lord,” muttered Sherlock.</p><p>“Will all of you shut up?” Greg said, giving up on opening the box. Then he grinned at Mycroft. “Jesus. Family, am I right?”</p><p>“<em>Greg</em>,” Mycroft said through his fingers. “It’s cold out here.”</p><p>Greg laughed, though his cheeks were cold with tears. “Mycroft Holmes, will you please make me the happiest man on earth, and marry me?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Mycroft breathed. He stepped down and slid into Greg’s arms, knocking them both backward. It was like their reunion on the trail in the wake of the mourning cloak; he and Mycroft sobbing and kissing and sprawled across the spring-chilled earth. </p><p>Now they sat in snow, their pants soaked and people watching. Laughter and clapping rang through the air. He glanced and saw Sherlock with the smallest of smiles on his face. When he caught his eye, they exchanged a nod. Greg grinned, certain Sherlock approved. </p><p>Mycroft’s face was buried in the juncture of his neck and shoulder, shaking. Greg opened the ring box - <em> Jesus, I didn’t even open the thing. </em> He pushed Mycroft back so he could see it.</p><p>“It’s exquisite,” Mycroft said. The ring shone in the porchlight. </p><p>“I think it’ll fit.” Greg slid it over Mycroft’s knuckles, nestling it firmly on his finger.</p><p>“Perfect,” Mycroft said, and shivered, his eyes riveted to the ring.</p><p>“C’mon,” Greg said, his nose pressed to Mycroft’s temple. “Let’s get inside where it’s warm.”</p><p>“Say hi to the camera, boys!” Jo called out.</p><p>Greg lifted his face to see Jo aiming her iPhone at them. </p><p>“Did you record the whole thing?”</p><p>“You bet your ass I did!” she chortled. “We’re going to watch this every year with the Christmas movies. It’ll be our new family tradition!”</p><p>Peri hopped from one foot to the other, her hands clasped together. Marcus grinned and winked. “Way to go, man!”</p><p>Sherlock’s voice sounded. “I’ve held the door open long enough; get in here already!”</p><p>Greg and Mycroft leaned on each other as they stood. He held Mycroft close to him as they crossed the threshold into the warmth of the house. A tiny tree sat on a table in the corner, adorned with glass ornaments and twinkling lights. A chess board with pieces moved around on the squares sat on the coffee table. Glasses of amber colored liquid balanced out the scene. </p><p>“Sorry to interrupt your game,” Greg said, though his chest was bursting with feelings of elation, like he’d run a marathon and won first prize. He was exhausted, exhilarated, and strangely hungry.</p><p>Mycroft huffed, and grinned. </p><p>“Is it okay if I send this to Molly?” Jo asked.</p><p>“Yeah. Yes. Send it to Molly. And then let’s all go back to my place - oh no, we can’t, John’s there.”</p><p>“John might not mind the company,” Sherlock said, his cheeks turning pink.</p><p>Greg raised his eyebrows.</p><p>“No way,” Marcus piped up. “Party at our house. We’ve got the booze and we’ve got Cards Against Humanity set up. Invite Molly.”</p><p>“Yes, invite Molly! And though Sammy’s with his mom, invite him! Invite them both!” Greg paused. “Is it okay that I’m inviting people to your house?”</p><p>“It’s fine!” Jo said, typing on her phone. </p><p>“Good. Close friends and family. That’s who I want to be surrounded by tonight.”</p><p>“Am I to come, too?” Sherlock asked quietly.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“I count as a friend?”</p><p>Greg smiled at Mycroft. “More than that, Sherlock. You count as family.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Molly had driven over in about twenty minutes from the time of the invitation. Her sister and her family were visiting tomorrow, and tonight she was with her new boyfriend, Chase, who she brought along. Sammy arrived about ten minutes after that. Marcus scrounged up a bottle of champagne, and they toasted the newly engaged couple. It devolved into turning Cards Against Humanity into a drinking game - Peri was given one glass of wine for the occasion - and that game was becoming riotous, with shouted accusations of cheating, bursts of uproarious laughter, and loud, pained groans. Sherlock was winning, which threw everyone into fits of disbelief. </p><p>Mycroft stood in front of the Christmas tree, the band glinting on his hand as he held his glass of bourbon. </p><p>Greg embraced him from behind, and nuzzled the back of Mycroft’s neck. “I love you.”</p><p>“You shock me. You always continue to shock me.”</p><p>“But you love me, right?”</p><p>“Immensely.” Mycroft squeezed his hand over his belly.</p><p>“I hope you don’t mind that we had an audience. Plus Jo recorded everything and now we look like two sappy idiots and that footage will live forever in the Cloud.”</p><p>Mycroft guffawed. “Good Lord, if I only had the power to wipe out the Cloud.”</p><p>Greg let a giggle escape. Then a sigh. “You really want to do this. To marry me?”</p><p>“Yes. I really want to.”</p><p>Greg’s stomach flipped as his heart somersaulted. </p><p>“And the logistics?” Mycroft asked.</p><p>“We’ll live together,” Greg said. “I called Henric on my way home. I told him what was what. He says John Watson worked out really well. He’d be happy to offer him my position if it came down to it. And have me on seasonally. Whatever works.”</p><p>Mycroft turned in his arms to face him.</p><p>“That doesn’t mean I want to be a kept man,” Greg said. “I want to work. But I want what you want. I want you to be part of my family. I want to be part of yours. I want us to raise a family. I want all of that. However we work it out. </p><p>“Perhaps...it means you work seasonally here, while I telecommute. Perhaps, we spend part of the year in London.”</p><p>Greg grinned into his fiance’s shoulder. “I like the sound of that.”</p><p>“I got you something,” Mycroft said. Greg released him so he could go to his room. He reappeared with a small box in hand. Bigger than a ring box, but Greg’s heart thumped regardless.</p><p>“It’s not a ring,” Mycroft said. “I had thought of buying you one, to be honest. But I couldn’t be sure I deserved you.”</p><p>“Stop that,” Greg said. “It’s not about what we deserve. It’s about ‘the soft animal of our body-’”</p><p>“‘Doing what it loves.’” Mycroft smiled and handed him the box.</p><p>Greg undid the bow and the wrapping paper. He opened the top of a plain white box, and inside lay a glass ornament. He lifted it from the delicate tissue paper.  </p><p>“It’s beautiful,” he said. Weepiness overcame him. It was as if river stones filled his mouth and throat, and his tear ducts were split open. “Thank you.”</p><p>“I should be thanking you.” Mycroft kissed his face, kissing away the wetness there. He offered up a handkerchief, seemingly out of nowhere.</p><p>Greg laughed. “Peri said you were a gentleman, what with your handkerchiefs.”</p><p>“I endeavor to be one.” Mycroft took him in his arms. They held one another as Christmas music played low on the stereo, and a riot of laughter filtered through the house. “Thank you for inviting me into your family. I’ve come to love them dearly.”</p><p>“Sherlock’s growing on me,” Greg quipped. They laughed. “I joke about Sherlock, a lot, I know. But I do care about him. A lot.”</p><p>Mycroft hugged him. “I know.”</p><p>“I want to hang this here for now.” Greg eyed up the tree. He chose a place toward the front, at chest height. “Just for now. Next year, it’ll hang on our tree.”</p><p>Mycroft’s eyes glimmered. “Next year. Our tree.”</p><p>Greg took his hand, and looked again at the ornament. It was in the shape of a hawk with a rust-red tail that shone brightly in the white lights. Her wings and head lifted skyward, and Greg could imagine the intention, the preparation for her to begin her journey.</p><p>The position she would take if she were taking flight. </p><p>The metaphor was obvious, here. </p><p>He squeezed his fiance’s hand. Mycroft’s gaze caught his. He said, “‘Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - over and over announcing your place in the family of things.’”</p><p>Mycroft smiled, and they kissed; over and over, announcing their place in the family of things. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading. Writing this story was part love letter to nature, to life, to Mary Oliver, and part nod to love itself. It’s also a love letter to the complicated people in our lives who we love anyway. I wrote it with the idea that love can be imperfect and still be perfect, and that it can come to us from many places. Thank you for the love you've shown for this story via comments and kudos. I relished them all. &lt;3</p><p>I can’t promise anything soon, but I am considering a Johnlock sequel called Foraging Honey. I have notes for it, including mutual pining, misunderstandings, friendship, and a wilderness adventure with a dangerous confrontation. </p><p>Also a big thank you to my two betas, hippocrates460 and notjustmum, who tirelessly worked on this long fic, and provided messages of support, and much-needed discussion on plot points. Thank you, a thousand times, thank you.</p>
        </blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
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